


Crimson Chains that Bind

by SpiritFromFlame



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Angst, Badass Warden, Blood, Blood Mages, Canon Divergence, Evil Templars, F/M, Fluffy Moments, Gore, Lots of sexual tension, Nightmares, Self-Harm, Self-Loathing, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Substance Abuse, Survival, Torture, Trigger Warnings, Varric is just done
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-03 22:29:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5309414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiritFromFlame/pseuds/SpiritFromFlame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kali is tough, stubborn, and pissed off after waking up to find herself trapped in a tangled web of chains only she can hope to unravel.  With the help of some unique friends along the way can she stop the out of control sect of Templars experimenting on non-humans?  Can she beat the poison running through her veins or will it finally consume her?</p>
<p>Or as my editor so kindly summarized the entire work for me:</p>
<p>A female dwarf unwittingly ambles into a horrifying plot involving Templars trying to nullify magic, and in doing so stumbles across the path of one clever-tongued surface-dwelling merchant Prince storyteller with whom she is about to have many experiences, and sexy encounters, in common.  Filled with torture, violence, and an indomitable need to survive and mete out justice to wrongdoers, all while getting her ass thoroughly kicked, this story is fucking long as hell and totally awesome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Clink of Chains

            Andraste’s sagging left tit did my head feel like not one but two bronto sat on it and decided to dance a jig down my back. I didn’t remember drinking that much; and it took a lot to get me blackout drunk—I wasn’t a dwarf for nothing. Turning my head was too much of a chore, but from the feel of it I had been in quite a brawl.

            A sound of footsteps made me jerk towards the noise. Big mistake. The pain I had slowly become accustomed to elected to rear an ugly hydra head and strike with precision. I crashed from the bed to the cool wooden floor.

            “Maker’s bloody flaming fire-filled ass!” Talking only made it hurt worse. Usually cursing up a storm took my mind off of pain, but not this time. What in the name of the bloody Archdemon had happened? I’d had a pint at the local tavern while listening to tales of the fall of Kirkwall, a story which had become more and more outlandish the more I heard it. Next thing I knew I was waking up with my head feeling worse than if a golem had split it open.

            The cold of the floor began to seep in and chase the agony away as I took deep breath after deep breath to try and clear my head. There was a big block of nothing after my first drink. As I slowly sat up I realized I was in an unfamiliar place.

            “What did I get myself into this time?” Yup, still hurt like a werewolf knowing on my brain. Again I heard footsteps as I grabbed the bed to try and stand up. My legs didn’t want to stay under me; apparently I wasn’t close enough to the floor already. Just one step sent the room twisting and turning and a string of curses that would have hardened Templars balking came streaming out through the misery.

            After I could see straight from blink to blink, I took another tentative step towards the closed door. There was very little light, which was a blessing. I did not know if I could have kept myself from screaming in agony if it was bright in there. Gritting my teeth, I focused on moving my barely responsive feet. The world felt determined to throw me off with every step, and turning the handle for the door was much more difficult than it should have been. Even as I put my weight into the pull I struggled to move it.

            The heavy wood protested every inch and my legs threatened to give out again. I managed to slip through the opening, just wide enough to allow my escape, my hip connecting with the door and my shoulder catching on the frame before I reached the hall.

            It was still blissfully dark, though it did not seem to be night. Then again, with nugs playing hide and seek in my brain I couldn’t be sure of much. A slow touch along my leathers told me my weapons were certainly missing. Not a good sign. Vials and other useful thing I’d stashed in small sewn pouches were also absent. I would have been more annoyed if a beam of bright sun hadn’t decided to meet me at eye level and stab me repeatedly in each and every nerve ending.

            The howl I heard sounded unnatural, an unholy bellow that rang in my ears. Realization struck me, that it had come from my own mouth. I writhed in that beam of light. Nails cracked against wood as I slowly dragged myself from that cursed batch of flaming rage-demon light. The darkness was a welcome balm, in its cool embrace I stopped convulsing and learned how to breathe again.

            What in the name of all the bloody dead Paragons was going on? This was no hangover or sickness I had ever encountered. Once again I tried to get to my feet, determined and ticked off. Dwarves were known for being stubborn. Why else would they lock themselves away from the world instead of actually living and participating in it? However, most other races didn’t realize that female dwarves were even worse, and I was more nug-headed than more. I had never been satisfied with my lot in live.

            Now if I could just figure out where I was then maybe I might have a clue as to what transpired. I wracked my brain: I remembered arriving at the Blue Dales to resupply and rest and, as per usual, I ended up helping the inhabitants. Just couldn’t say no to people in need of help. I ended up taking care of a rogue Varterral that had taken up residence near the town. That job turned into several more, most of which involved me taking care of other minor annoyances for the small, tightly knit community of non-humans. That it was entirely non-humans was odd, but not unheard of. Several leagues away was a human settlement; I’d visited there just once to offer my assistance with any unusual jobs in need of doing. The Templars present had declined politely.

            Victory! I had managed to stand once more and resumed my slow shuffle. I reached the main room, or what I assumed to be the main room, and immediately knew I did not wish to enter. The windows were near the roof, high above me, and far too tiny for even my small body to fit through. They were letting in too much light for comfort. Then again any light was too much. It also informed I had no clue where I was…

            Footsteps echoed again, this time behind me. I turned as quickly as I could manage without hurting myself and was greeted with—nothing. Now, I knew I wasn’t that crazy,--I _had_ heard footsteps.

            I raised a hand to smooth out my hair and saw that my hands were trembling. This was not the little shake I got before a fight, but full-on quaking. Something was terribly wrong and I needed to find out what. It was time to brave the light and get out of there.

            “Son of Andraste’s bastard hunchback child!” The light wasn’t as bad as before. At least I wasn’t convulsing on the floor, but fuck me; the world shouldn’t spin like that. I gripped onto anything I could. Slowly, very slowly, with my head screaming and teeth clenched, I worked my way over to where I thought I’d seen a door. I only managed a paltry few steps when the room broke apart and reformed into complete darkness.

            I blinked slowly, a dull ache streaking from front to back of my head, pulsing in time with my heart. I had hit something? And apparently I’d blacked out—Andraste’s sagging ass cheeks!—for some time, because the light was dimmer now. Thank Andraste’s heart-shaped ass for _that_.

            Well. The pain wasn’t too bad when I sat up. Red caught my gaze then. The stone table near me had a streak of blood from, I imagined, my infamously hard skull had hit it. Sure enough, the lump on my forehead was crusted with the stuff. Thank the Paragon’s I healed fast, or else the blood loss might have laid me up for days. I didn’t even want to think about the tacky puddle next to me. Head wounds always bled like a son of a bitch.

            I had made it about halfway to the door. And yes, I _had_ seen a door, but it was on a different wall than I had previously thought. To my left, a cold fireplace stood opposite, to the right of a squat stone table—a desk. Above it, I noticed a cage with soft cooing noises drifting from it. A messenger pigeon perhaps? Unusual. I’d think on it later. I had a door to pry open.

            The shaking began again, wracking my limbs as I moved forward, and it felt worse than that time… wait… don’t think about that now. This was nothing like that incident.

            I groaned as I unwittingly turned my head too fast. I could have sword—had I heard footsteps again? Cold metal greeted my hands, but the lever wouldn’t budge. Locked… Figures…. Why hadn’t a taken that damned rogue up on his offer to teach me lock picking? Well, there was the fact that he hadn’t been all that good at it. Oh, and I’d been too busy killing darkspawn and every other nasty critter we could find.

            There had to be another way out, and I would find it or die trying, damn it! Though I hoped this wouldn’t lead to that option. I had too much left to do to just up and die now.

            After what felt like several hours, (it was hard to tell with the sun down, bugger it all), I had thoroughly determined that the doors (all 2 of them) were most definitely locked and reinforced. I needed a plan if I was to get through them, and though the hard-headedness of dwarves was legendary, ramming my own against the wood until it gave was _not_ a viable option.

            I started a fire. The light from the flames, thank the Maker’s floppy balls, did not hurt as badly as the sun.

            With little else to do, I uncovered the black cloth-covered cage to reveal a rather happy looking messenger pigeon. After some thought I decided if I couldn’t find my way out, failed to find out whoever did this, or went mad, I would try sending the pigeon out of the chimney at first light. It was far too late; the animal would only roost for the night, and with my luck the bird would get eaten before morning.

            I hadn’t meant to, but sitting by the fire was quite relaxing for my over-stressed mind. I drifted off to sleep before I could stop myself.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

            With a cry of surprise, I jerked awake, scrambling upright, my blankets sliding off of me…

            Wait… blankets? How did I get to the bed? The room began to turn shades of grey and I leaned forward, pressing my palms to my eyes. Maker’s diseased left testicle… What in the bloody Fade was wrong with me? My heart pounded in my ears, drowning out everything else. My chest felt so tight it was hard to breathe. The shaking was back with a vengeance, rattling my bones and trying to tear me apart muscle by muscle. I fought to take one deep breath, then another, lungs screaming for air as if they were being starved for it. I wasn’t at a loss for air, so why was my body ravenous for it?

            A high-pitched laugh sent me scrambling from the bed, hands reaching instinctively for weapons that weren’t there.

            “Who’s there?” I shouted at the walls. “I demand you come out this instant and tell me what the fuck is going on!”

            So much for diplomacy… Pain always pissed me off. A certain someone had told me I should have been a warrior, or more specifically a berserker. They had conceded eventually that I was too good at sneaking around and going unseen to waste those particular talents, even though I couldn’t pick a lock to save my life. Now I desperately wished I had worked harder to pick up that skill.

            No one replied to my demand, and my right leg collapsed under me in a fit of sudden, cramping spasms. I cracked a floor board smashing my fist into it in agony, and then, knuckles aching, I forced the damned leg to straighten and stay that way. It felt like a lifetime before the contractions subsided, leaving a sickly sheen of cold sweat on my forehead. It was nearly as bad as getting hit with chain lightning, and that stuff sucked ogre balls even as a glancing blow.

            Getting to my feet took forever. I didn’t know if putting my weight on it would send muscles spiraling back into a tight ball of uncontrollable pain or not. The Paragons must have been watching over me, however, because that did not happen. I was tempted to dance a jig of joy.

            I still had no idea where the laugh had come from. Someone had to be there. I hadn’t made it back to the bed on my own, that I was certain. I felt clean as well, which was a rather sickening epiphany. Reaching up cautiously, I found my auburn hair back in its usual brain, not snarled into a rat’s nest of knots. Someone had fed me, too—I didn’t feel hungry at all.

            Damn it all, I needed to figure out what was going on.

            Though spasms didn’t return to that one abused leg, other tremors wracked my body. My right arm became the most popular spot. Most of the time I could just grit my teeth and work through it. However, when it crackled down my spine, screams tore from my throat, and the searing cramps bent me double, trying to rip me in half. I blacked out for a few minutes during the last throes of it. By now I was beginning to suspect I either had some new plague invented by the Maker too arsed to come down and scorch the earth himself, or someone was _doing_ this to me. Resolution doubled at the thought; I needed to find a way out, now, before something worse occurred.

            The writing desk was still there, cooing pigeon looking down at me expectedly. The quill felt heavier than a cart burdened beneath a mountain of dead darkspawn, but I did my best to pen out a short message to the innkeeper in the Blue Dales. I had chatted with her on many occasions and she had made me feel welcome. Anna and her daughter were ridiculously grateful when I took care of a few bandits terrorizing them. I could only hope that they would be able to get word to someone who could find me. Regretfully, those I knew I could count on were scattered to the winds. I’d had to settle for a guard of some kind. I just needed a weapon or two and I’d be good to go.

            **Anna,**

**I hope this message reaches you safely. Unusual things have happened and I find myself in trouble. If you would be so kind, I would be in your debt if you could inform a guard I am being held against my will in an unknown location. This bird should be able to help them find me. A rescue would be most appreciated. Please hurry.**

**Kali (that crazy sword-wielding dwarf)**

            I smiled; she had called me crazy when I showed up, blades in hand and ready to defend her and her daughter. Then I realized I should have said something about weapons. No respectful dwarf went without weapons after all.

            **P.S. If there is any way you can talk to the blacksmith about crafting me some new blades I would also appreciate it.**

            There… that didn’t sound too presumptuous, I hoped. When asking to be rescued, it was always good to be polite. Until I figured out my own way out, it would simply have to do.

            With shaky fingers I attached the note to the sleepy bird’s leg before gripping the blue band on the other. I stroked along the runes. I had heard of such magic bands in my travels—birds were used to deliver messages in poorly populated areas. The spelled silver allowed for the animal to find the message’s recipient so long as you knew who they were and could picture them clearly. It apparently acted as a divining rod or some such thing.

            I was a dwarf, damnit, I didn’t understand magic.

            I pictured the Inkeeper; tall, surprisingly large chested for an elf, dark hair streaked with silver, and I couldn’t forget the small scar near her hairline from a bandit attack when she was young.

            “Find Anna of the Blue Dales…. And hurry.” I whispered and let the bird go. It let out an unhappy coo before circling the room in lazy circles, looking for a way out. It shot straight for a window and I looked away not wanting to see the poor creature break its own neck. It was just too good to be true, getting a message out so easily, but the crunch of hitting the window never came. Instead I saw a gray feathered tail slipping out and away, leaving me completely alone.

            Though if I was alone then where in the Fade was that laughter coming from? It sounded like a child, or someone gone completely mad… Nope, I didn’t need an insane individual to deal with. Then again someone had to be out of their mind to be doing this to me… maybe I did need this addled individual to show up… Bring it on, I could use the fight. Maybe the adrenaline would clear my head? Or make it worse. There was always that…

            Damn it all to the depths of the Fade!! A greed demon feasting on them or being torn apart by hungry Genlock wasn’t good enough for this asshat! Or Asshats…. Couldn’t discount the possibility that multiple persons were responsible. It would take a few to bring me down. Hell, last time it took a dozen!

            I stopped my train of thought. I needed to focus,… but it was difficult. I felt terribly jittery, and though I wouldn’t admit it out loud, I was a bit worried. I had been though some impossible things over the years, but I didn’t know if I would make it out of this alive.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

            The Archdemons abominable crusty dripping ass! I couldn’t keep waking up like this!

            I was both burning and freezing at once, and it felt worse than getting hit by cone of cold and a fireball in one go. The room was no more than a jumble, the walls melting, or maybe _bleeding_ because wood shouldn’t be that red. I didn’t have a fever—at least, I didn’t _think_ I did—because the floor felt no colder against my skin than it had the day before.

            Something was being done to me, I knew it.

            I didn’t have time to explore that thought, unfortunately. My forehead cracked audibly as it hit the ground and my spine bowed in a spasm that likely snapped a rib or two, if not a couple of vertebrae. I held onto the thought that I would find whoever was responsible, and I would use every ounce of my knowledge to make them suffer. My head hit hard floor again and I glimpsed some bright, odd shaped stars before all-consuming darkness descended.

            Flashes of images made me dizzy and nearly sick to my usually iron clad stomach. Swaying in the breeze was a slightly familiar tree in full bloom with thick blood dripping from each white flower, like some strange nectar. The fireplace blazed with blue flames that grew and grew before turning into a rage demon that reached for me as I screamed, unable to escape. Cold water hit my skin and froze as it touched, encasing me in ice one teeth-chattering drop at a time. A misty figure made its way closer, stalking me, filling the room with noxious fumes until I was chocking from them, unable to breathe. My last vision was a pair of gray eyes flecked with gold, cold and calculating, tired around the edges. I could see my death in those eyes. It terrified me.

            My vision dimmed over several blinks and, suddenly, I felt a pressure around my arm. My hands connected with something sold as I struck out blinded, clawing to get away. Pure animal instinct drove me to fight, screamed at me to get away. It was my only thought. Get out. Free myself. Get away from the pain, from that slowly descending madness that robbed me of speech and coherence. Agony blossomed from both arms as a wordless scream tore its way free. My head snapped back before blissful darkness came once more.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

I groaned at the insistent noise in my ears. Each soft coo was a dagger to my ear drums, and I tried desperately to bury myself in the pillow.

Cooing? What would be cooing? I dared to crack open an eye and, staring sideways with reddish orange eyes, was the damn carrier pigeon. This close, I noticed the bright orange bill with a black tip and the patch of iridescent green feathers below a crescent of white on its neck. A male in its prime and it was back… which meant…

I sat straight up and immediately which the Maker would strike me dead, not once but twice. It would have been a mercy compared to the horde of ogres dancing around in my skull or the golem using my spine as a broom.

I raised a hand to my head and found the lump gone. I knew that, before unconsciousness gripped me tight, I had cracked my skull hard enough to cause serious damage. After so many great wounds, you kind of learn to judge how severe they are, and that one, by all accounts, had been bad. As in bleeding in my brain, praying to the Maker, and someone screaming for the healer **bad**. I was pretty sure I had also bitten through my tongue as well, but there was nothing to indicate I’d harmed myself at all.

            Which meant…

            How long had I been out? I whimpered softly as I forced my legs to move. An alarm call sounded shrilly near me and I fell on my ass once again, turning much too quickly. “Andraste’s shredded rotten womb!” The bird waited next to me as the violent, unexpected clench of all my bastard muscles began to finally ease. It watched me for a moment, and then it began to preen my hair. Birds were so bloody odd.

            Bit wait… the bird was back! I shook worse than a woman being serviced by an Antivan whore as I knelt, not sure if standing were possible. I gently took the bird in hand, and the scrap of paper tied to its leg came free with ease. I wanted to shout in triumph. Someone had gotten my note!

            Those precious moments of hope were ripped away faster than the Circle taking an Apostate when I read the scrawled words.

            **Kali,**

**I’m sorry to hear about your troubles, you’ll have to tell me all about your adventure when you get back. I have sent word to Kyrian about blades suitable for you; they should be ready by the time you get here. Your room remains untouched as you requested. Lys looks forward to your return. Safe journey back.**

**Anna**

            Rage, pure and sweet, flooded my senses. Oh, the agony flared up and consumed every inch but my nerves began to deaden. Adrenaline spiked dangerously, sending my heart racing painfully fast and my lungs working twice as hard as they ought to function. The haze coating my senses lifted for a blissful moment.

            Of course they would have intercepted the note; it was the only explanation. I got to my numb feet, crumbling the paper in a fist. I was getting out of there today even if I had to break the floor boards and dig my way out. They were going to regret ever thinking up this foolish plan, whatever it was.   You do not fuck with a dwarf.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

            Half the day flew by, and by then my fingers were bleeding from attempting to pick the lock on the second door next to the privy. Broken picks made from anything and everything littered the floor. I wanted to scream and rage and break it apart, but the reinforcements were too strong. My aching fist met the wood over and over until bones crunched. I didn’t care about the pain anymore—it was a drop in the ocean at that point.

            Resting my forehead to the wood, I growled in frustration and looked over to my hand. The knuckles were split and splinters stuck out in all directions, like spines on one of those quilled beasts from the North. I looked beyond and my eyes honed in on the door hinges. _They_ were the weak points, if only I could somehow get them loose… I sprinted for the main room and grinned.

            My head felt like it had been smashed by a rather ornery dragon, but even that wouldn’t stop me as I gripped the squat table and heaved. Hands protested, screaming along with every fiber in my body. I grit my teeth and sent the solid piece sailing end over end. It smashed into the wall with a satisfying sound of stone crackling. Hope was a powerful motivator for someone with nothing left to lose.

            Freedom sang in those shards. I pulled several free from the heap and grinned. I needed wedges, but another caught my attention, smaller and sharper. I picked it up, examined it. The song held small veins of quartz, which was why it had been broken in such a way. Pure stone wouldn’t have done that. I grinned wider, proud as a damned Paragon to be a dwarf who knew the strength of Stone.

            I had a weapon, a crude instrument likely to only survive a single blow—but it was something. I hoofed it back to the door and began prying at the metal in earnest, true hope singing in my heart for the first time in what felt like days.

~*~*~*~*~*~*


	2. Strained Links and Whispers on the Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kali has wrested free of her physical cage, but what of the invisible chains that bind her? Where does she go? What happens when she begins to uncover the depths of the depravity going on?

            It was dark out but the moon was swollen and full, and it was the most glorious thing I had ever seen. I pinched myself to be certain I’d truly made it this far, leaving a large bruise on the inside of my left arm. Maker’s flaming balls, I was exhausted. Nicks and cuts from my efforts still seeped blood and the gash on my leg was throbbing, but I was _finally_ outside. The struggle had been worth it. However

            It was a thirty-plus foot drop from the balcony to the ground.   This wasn’t going to be fun, but a dwarf had to do what a dwarf had to do.

            Especially where freedom was concerned.

            My sheets served as rope, lessening the inevitable remaining drop inch by small inch. It was still going to hurt worse than a Mabari chewing on my leg, but at this point I just hoped the knots held. Hell, I just hoped my own body held. My hands were just a little too slow to react, slippery with fresh blood and shaking like mad. When I found civilization again I was going to have a hot bath, retrieve my new weapons, and kill the bastard(s)… in that order.

            I took a deep breath, trying to will myself calm. I needed to do this right. A broken neck would not help me get revenge. Unless I came back as a ghost and haunted the ever-loving shit out of the bugger(s) responsible. The idea held promise.

            “One, two, three – let the breath out slow.” One of my teachers had said that I was prone to “too many breaths per minute.” Well, what did he expect? I was a damned dwarf! My lungs weren’t as big as topsider human folk’s. That arse.

            Enough putting this off, then. I let the tension out in a steadying breath and jumped.

            My shoulders nearly wrenched from their sockets, but my grip held. Thank the Stone. Now to just drop the rest of the way without incident.

            Sadly, I didn’t get a chance, as the sheet slipped from my tired hands and I tumbled.

            I twisted in the air and landed hard on the not so-yielding ground. Lying on my back for a few minutes, trying to regain the breath that had fled my body and left stars bursting before my eyes, I considered my life choices.

            Finally, the stars wobbling in their perches overhead settled, along with my achy head and my galloping heart rate. Tentatively, painfully, I sat up.

            Well, that had been quite the adventure. Now, to get up off of my arse and take off like a bloody lunatic. I had no food or water on me, and who knew how far it was to the nearest town. Then again, with my luck, I’d end up walking in circles until my body finally cramped, seized, and surrendered to the Stone on me, infamous Dwarven stubbornness be damned.

_Ah, this escape was going to be good for the nerves!_ It was nice to know, after the events of the past twenty-four hours, I still could summon sarcasm. It gave a girl hope.

            The razor-sharp stone shard poked out from the pocket I had tucked it into. I gripped it tight, resolute and shaky with adrenaline, until welled in my palm.

            I could do this.

            I ran, spiked adrenaline from the fall driving me forward, and I needed it—desperately. Dwarves _hated_ running and I was no exception; we would saunter into a battle five minutes late with a tankard of ale if it meant we didn’t have to run. Or jog. Steep inclines were viewed with equal distrust.

            Running blind through the woods wasn’t the smartest thing I’d ever done, especially considering I lacked the natural gracefulness of humans and elves with their long legs and enviable sprinting abilities. And whatever sickness I had made any attempts to run that much more difficult. I was pretty sure every tree root leapt up to trip me out of sheer spite, but somehow my luck held and I didn’t face-plant into the rich earth.

            This place was unnaturally quiet for a forest-no sounds of animals or hum of insects. Or maybe my ears just weren’t working. Something bigger than me was stirring on the wind, and I would figure it out eventually.

            But first, escape.

            A laugh resounded, bouncing off the trees, and I stumbled in shock, slamming into a tree trunk. Winded, I gripped onto the bark and listened, staring around into the ominous shadows of the forest. Nothing stirred. Brandishing my not-quite-intimidating shard of stone desk, I turned around and around in agitated circles, searching for any sign of movement. Even the air was eerily still.

            “Show yourself!” I shouted into the abyss of sound. My throat felt raw, but I steeled the words as best I could.

            Once again silence greeted me. Surprise, surprise. Finding the direction I needed to go took me more than a couple of minutes, before I remembered that the moon had hovered tellingly over my left shoulder. I took three steps—

            And dropped straight to the ground.

            You don’t soon forget the creak of a nocked arrow or the woody snap of a bow or the sharp pluck of taut string as a deadly arrow shoots straight for your head.

            There was no thwack of an arrow impacting anything... In fact, there was no sound at all now.

            Had I imagined it?

            I needed to keep going. I couldn’t stop here, driven to madness by impossible sounds. What I wouldn’t give for a horse. Hell, a bronto would work, slow as they were.

            My legs faltered beneath me, buckling slightly under my own traitorous weight, but I couldn’t stop... Not yet. I had to keep going. _Think of vengeance, think of getting revenge on the sodding pus-filled ballsacks who did this to you_. That did it. Revenge burned through me like a hot wash of inspirational acid (and I knew from experience acid was not fun. Maker did I hate acid traps!).

            A stream bubbled happily ahead, bringing my flagging body to an abrupt halt. My knees protested as I fell on them heavily and plunged my entire face into the small stream. The stinging ebbed as the shock of cold soaked in, deadening the nerves. I came up for air, gasping and then greedily scooping up water to gulp down. The cool, crisp, clean taste was more heavenly than any dwarven, elven, or human brew. Even as it fiercely cramped my stomach I continued drinking until I could take in no more.

            The moon glinted and I peered at my distorted reflection. I looked thinner, gaunter, cheekbones a little more pronounced and eyes a bit sunken, too wide in the poor light of the surrounding copse. The dark rune tattoo snaking above and over my eye to curl along my cheek stood out starkly against my pale skin, matching the deep brown of my eyes. My hair looked akin to a rat’s nest; what I wouldn’t have given in that moment for a bit of soap and a comb. I touched my once-neat braid with a grimace; it was barely holding together, auburn strands flying every which way.

            I tore my gaze from my wan reflection and set to scrubbing my hands free of blood. Cleaning the makeshift bandage from my thigh. Then, that done, I turned my attention to the wound. It didn’t look too bad; the ragged tear was beginning to scab over and mend. Crusted blood sluiced away with every handful of water... I wound the strip of fabric around the wound again, securing it tightly before getting up. Finding civilization and a big barrel of ale were now my two main goals. Then—revenge.

            I was still traveling blind, without a clue as to where I was going. I knew I would find _something_ if I kept going in one direction. Hopefully. I spared a moment to catch my breath, my body still not quite responding to my demands. The spasms, twitches, and searing pain _were_ lessening in frequency and duration, thank the Paragons. It was possible my body was finally driving out whatever had tainted it; magical or otherwise.

            I started off again, the prospect of friendly faces and good ale renewing my flagging spirit.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            The sun had finally risen when I came upon the path. I was almost certain the well-worn wagon trail was a mirage until the sound of a donkey braying sent me spinning around. Sure enough I could make out an elf swearing up a storm in Dalish at the stubborn beast. I couldn’t help but crack a smile. I hoped I didn’t look too bad (or, well, _mad_ ) covered in mud, leaves, and with enough twigs in my hair to fashion a proper bird’s nest given the time and effort.

            I made my way slowly towards him, and fatigue reared its ugly head once more. My voice gave out just as it reached my lips. Inwardly, I kept up a steady stream of increasingly frustrated cursing.

            “Well now, that’s not something you see every day. A lone dwarf on the road.”

            The elf smiled down at me. He was kind of cute. Paragon’s take me; I was weak for fine men with long black hair and clear blue eyes.

            Once again I tried to speak, and this time I barely managed to croak out, “Bad week…”

            Something was thrust at me, and I nearly topped in surprise. My heart pounded, adrenaline burning through my blood, my entire body tensing up to defend, when I realized that the dark shape hovering in front of my now-crossed eyes was...a flask.

            And it was full of, not water, but alcohol. Sweet merciful Paragons, some good luck at last.

            I snatched the flask from him and took a hearty swig. The elf took the opportunity to untie a water skin from his donkey, who still refused to budge, and we swapped drinks, loathe as I was to surrender the spirits.   Steadily as I could, I hefted the full skin from him and took a sip. The water was still cool, not as crisp as the stream, but it still tasted wonderful. I only took a mouthful, just enough to wet my throat.

            “Thank you,” I handed it back and he took a drink from the flask himself. I eyed the donkey; it was holding itself strangely. “Looks like your donkey has a rock caught in his shoe. That is why he won’t budge.”

            “How did you-?” the elf began, then stopped, a genuine smile touching his lips. “Thank you, Serrah; you just saved me a world of trouble.”

           “Can you tell me where the nearest village is? I turned myself around a bit.” I held my breath. Please, please, please, let this blasted place be somewhere close.

            “You’ll want to go to the Blue Dales. It’s right down that way, can’t miss it. Shouldn’t take you more than an hour’s walk.”

            I did my best to hide my shock.

            “Not so lost then,” I muttered. “Thank you again for the drinks.” I smiled at him and took off at a slow but steady pace, waiting until I was just out of his sight before sprinting. Dwarves would willingly run for certain things. Good, thick ale. A feast. And baths. Sweet Paragons, I was so close to that bath I could taste it!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            Maker’s blessed tight ass, the hot water was even better than in my fantasies. I didn’t know how long I had stayed in there, soaking up the heat and pruning to a big, contented wrinkle. My bar of soap was little more than a sliver, used up from all the scrubbing I had done. I never wanted to leave that tub.

            Of course that was when food arrived and my traitorous stomach growled. I smiled at the maid and dragged myself from the now-tepid water. “If you could have Lys come up when she has a free moment, I would appreciate it,” I said politely. I sounded almost back to normal.

            “Yes, Serrah.” It was weird being called that. It would always be weird.

            I slipped on my spare armor; the other one needed more than a bit of cleaning and fixing up at this point. I winced as little needles of pain shot off in my leg. During my bath, I’d discovered the source—several odd marks mottling my thigh. Unlike other wounds, the strangely colored bruising refused to fade. Pulsing angry reds, blacks, and blues twisted together, curling into sinuous circular marks, and they ached like nothing else. There were smaller patches of it on my arms, something which I had failed to notice until waking from my second nap.

            I was twisting the tie for my hair, musing over events, when a knock rapped on the door. I held my breath, heart pounding suddenly, wondering if I had imagined it.

            “Come in,” I called out.

            The door opened.

            “Maker’s breath, you look like a person now, not the half dead rat you came in as!” came a friendly, very familiar voice.

            I couldn’t help but smile. Lys was quite outspoken; tall, lithe, and raven haired with green eyes. “I hope you’re going to tell me all about your adventure!”

            “I’ll get to that. I just wanted to ask you something first.” I knocked back a tankard of water. I was so thirsty it hurt.

            “Anything,” she said. She sat down on the edge of the bed, putting us both at just about eye level.

            “Did you see the letter I sent to your mother?” I took a bite of warm bread and was momentarily overwhelmed by the pleasure cascading over my taste buds. Damn that woman knew how to bake a good loaf of bread!

            “Yeah,” Lys replied, twisting her fingers in her lap. “Couldn’t believe you sent it to be honest.”

            I nearly dropped my food.

            “What do you mean?” I asked carefully as I forced myself to chew and swallow another piece.

            “It didn’t sound like you, but mama said it was, so I didn’t question it.”

            The sour pit in my stomach grew. I had hoped the letter I received had been the lie.

            “Thank you, Lys. I promise to tell you the whole tale later.” I wished I had a mug of Dragon’s Breath right then. “I’d also like to talk to your mother when she’s not browbeating the drunks.” She looked confused for a moment, a tad disappointed, and maybe a little worried. The girl didn’t have anyone except her mother, so having someone to finally talk to must have been wonderful. And here I was, dismissing her like a common servant, not a friend.

            I gave her my best smile as she said, uncertainly, “Sure thing, Kali.”

            “I promise you, I will tell you the entire story, soon.” _I hope_. I added silently as she stood up. “Before you go, do you know if Kyrian found some blades for me?” I needed to be armed to the teeth for this.

            “I think mama said he may have found something. I can find out if you’d like.” She headed towards the door reluctantly.

            “I’m going to head over there now, actually, thank you.”

            I really hoped she wasn’t tangled up in this somehow. Paragons have mercy if she was.

            “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask,” she said, hopefulness in her voice, as slipped out into the hall.

            I gripped the chair next to me, knuckles white and aching. After a few quiet moments, I pushed myself away, forcing my tense joints to move back to my meal and finish my food – who knew when I’d have another hot meal. I penned a quick note afterwards, offering some nonsense about exploring ancient ruins and strange glowing markings, before heading out into the lively clamor and clang of the village.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

            Kyrian was like most dwarves: short, stout, and bad tempered. He didn’t believe for one second that I’d lost my swords in an accident. It still hurt to bear their loss. They had been irreplaceable, gifts given from unique individuals under unique circumstances, but both blades were enchanted by expert hands for mine alone. It felt wrong to seek common replacements, but I needed something to tide me over for now. I did know that I would find those gifted blades again, and then I would use them to peel the flesh from every one of those bastards’ bones.

            “Like I told you, the damned straps for them broke when I fell. Probably saved my damned life catching when they did. Maker’s stripped cock; don’t you warn people about those mine shafts?” I threw my arms up in exasperation for good measure. “I’d have them in my hands _now_ if not for those giant spiders swarming and keeping me from that ledge. But, well, if you’d rather I go to Red Dale and see if they can craft me something...”

            “HA!” Kyrian snorted explosively. “Those pansy-arsed humans know nothing of swordcraft. You’re better off with a pointy twig than the shit they produce!” Ah, there was that indomitable dwarven pride – something I had never had. Being a brand tended to strip away the appeal.

            “So. Are you going to show me what you’ve got?” Hands on my hips, stance wide, I stared the bastard down.

            “All right, I may have a few things that will fit your needs,” he grumbled. “But before I get into that, I’ve got those bracers ready.” My head perked up and I grinned. I had brought back pieces of the Varterral for him to incorporate into armor; some new technique he was experimenting with, cursing and clanging long into the night when the entire village had long gone to their beds.

            He pulled out a lock box and produced the key. New armor was always a fine treat. I opened it eagerly and flung the lid off in my haste. The leather-chitin mix was black and jointed, not one solid piece, allowing room for movement. The metalwork that reinforced it gleamed brilliant and silver.   The runes carved into the silverite spoke of dexterous hands and years of honed skill.

            It was beautiful.

            “Remind me to bring you more Varterrals,” I said. I ran my fingers along the bracers reverently.

            “They will be able to withstand any assault shy of a High Dragon.” He was beaming, and the brightness in his usually dour expression only emphasized the fiery red in his mop of hair and wiry beard more.

            “Were you able to work that compartment in?” I asked as I picked the left one up and turned it over, inspecting the silver.

            “Ah,” he huffed. “Why you’d want such a contraption is beyond me, but you’ll find it there.” Sure enough the metal held a catch which, when pressed, opened to reveal a small pocket; the rigidity of the chitin didn’t allow for much room, but there was just enough space to slip in a sliver of poison or a letter.

            “You have outdone yourself, Kyrian,” I admitted. “They are beyond my expectation! I can’t wait to see the set when it’s finished.” I closed the box and smiled wickedly. I had a plan. “Thank you, I’ll be back about those blades later.”

            “Don’t forget to bring me back the goods to make more!” he called after me with a short laugh as I turned and took off towards the tavern.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

            I was wrapping up the bracers when there was a knock at the door.

            “Come in, “I called automatically, tucking the lock box away into the desk. The noises that weren't real had slowly ebbed. I thanked the Paragons for that mercy.

            “Lys said you needed me?” Anna smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

            “Yes. Could you take a look at this note, perhaps see if you recognize the hand that inked it?” I pulled the crumpled note out and handed it to her. She took it, and it was not what she had been expecting, going by the surprise in her eyes. I watched as she read it, her brow knitting in concentration.

            “I have no idea, lass,” she said at last. “That handwriting doesn’t belong to anyone I know.”

            A small spasm shuddered through me. I bit down on the inside of my cheek to keep myself steady. I had only experienced two episodes of shaking/trembling/spasms so far that day, but they left me thinking the damage might be permanent.

            “Strange…” I mused. I tasted copper on my tongue; I had bitten down too hard. “That’s my writing, which you would know if you had gotten the note I had sent. I’ve been told that I have very distinctive handwriting.” Brands often did, not having been properly schooled or educated.

            She looked shocked but, as I’d feared, not as shocked as she should have. She stood there, emotions warring on her delicate features.

            “I was kidnapped and tortured by persons unknown,” I continued, watching her closely as I spoke, “and I managed an escape even though they intercepted my letter. And if they intercepted my letter, then they’d know that I’d come back here…”

            The stiff lack of a response gave it all away.

            “You knew?” Still, she didn’t speak. “I’m not the first am I?” A shot in the dark, but she met my eyes; panic, and welling need to spill the deep dark secrets that lay therein. If I hadn’t spent the last four weeks drugged out of my mind, I could have persuaded her to talk. “Look, I can help -- just tell me what’s going on.”

            I bit back my anger rather well so as not to scare her, but, oh, how I wanted to scream and burn the world in my rage. How had no one done anything about this before? How had this been allowed to happen?

            “I- I-I have things I need to do…” she stammered, already backing towards the door. She spun on her heel to leave and abruptly stopped at the sight that greeted. “Lys!”

            Her daughter watched her mother with a stricken expression. “Is it true, mama?” Her daughter was blowing back and forth between anger and such pure, utter sadness that it hurt my chest to see it warring in her eyes. “Is that why people keep ‘ _leaving_ ’?”

            Oh Maker’s puss filled wounds; I really wasn’t the only one.

            “Lys I –“Anna began, but she was cut off.

            “Did Nwaelmaer leave or did something else happen to him?” Sorrow made bitter every accusing syllable; Lys had loved whoever that was. Anna did her best to steel herself and squared herself off to lie, but before she even opened her mouth, Lys exploded. “Don’t you dare lie to me!” she cried. “You knew how much I cared for him!”

            After a taut, teetering moment, during which mother and daughter stared at each other, horrified, Lys turned and fled. Anna cursed softly and followed right on her heels.

            Andraste’s putrid amputated feet! What in the bloody Fade was going _on_ in this town?

~*~*~*~*~*~*

            It was getting dark when I made my way down past the kitchen to Lys’s room, package tucked under my arm. I knocked gently. “Lys, can I talk to you for a minute?” I asked through the door.

            “Maker!” Something shattered and I opened the door, ready for a fight. A vase lay shattered on the floor, and Lys stood there staring at it, eyes wide and tears streaking her pretty face.

            “Let me help you.” I set the package down and began carefully plucking the shards of heavy glass from the floorboards. Things were strewn about; she looked like she was packing. “Going on a trip?” I tried to keep it light.

            She shook her head, so overwhelmed by emotion that she didn’t—or couldn’t—speak for a moment. Finally, she blurted out:

            “I-I can’t stay here!” Her breaths cut out of her in short, shocky gasps. “How could she lie to me like that? All those people, all those poor people disappearing and never returning, and she knew about it! She _knew_!”

            The air felt electrified in her anger. I knew the justified rage that made air thick, which made it difficult to breathe.

            “Oh, Lys,” I put a hand on her shoulder. That one small kindness undid her; she spun and wrapped slender arms around me. I hugged her as tightly as I dared. “She was trying to protect you.” I believed it; it’s what most mothers would do. Not mine, but it’s what mothers in legend did.

            “But why didn’t she tell me about him…” She pulled in a hoarse breath, voice shaking. “He was going to stay here and make a life with me.”

            My heart ached for her, but I kept my voice calm, for her sake.

            “She did what she thought was right.” I tightened my grip on her as she shook, tears flowing freely, wetting my throat. We must have been a sight -- a dwarf comforting a sobbing elf.

            “She still won’t tell me what’s going on…” she murmured, and I stroked her hair.

            “I don’t think she can, not yet.” I pulled back from her just a bit; I still had some things that needed to taking care of, but I’d be damned if I left this broken-hearted girl alone forever to her grief. “Lys, please listen to me for a minute.” I waited until she lifted her watery gaze to mine, my fingers wrapped firmly around her arms and giving a reassuring squeeze. “I won’t let whatever happened to those people _ever_ happen again, but I need your help.”

            She wiped at her eyes.

            “Promise?” she asked, and it so soft, like bird wings gliding through still air.

            “By the Maker and all the Paragons,” I swore, voice low and dangerous, “I will make those bastards meet their Makers.” She smiled, a small upturn of pink lips. It was a hope for her to cling to, and that was something we all needed a little of now and again.

            “What can I do?” she asked.

            I grabbed the box.

            “First, I need you to hang onto this for me,” I said, “and if anyone ever comes looking for me, assuming things have gone pear-shaped, give it to them. They’ll know what to do. They will be travelers. Definitely not from the Free Marches, and if anyone else asks you’re holding onto it for when I return.” I gave her the lockbox and key. “Now, this is for you.” I pulled a pouch from a pocket. “If things get worse around here I want you to leave. Don’t try and be the hero, don’t come looking for me or the others—just get the hell out of this sodding place and don’t ever look back. Go to Ferelden, find your way to Denerim, and talk to the elves there. Mention my name and they will help you.” I smiled. I had met so many people in my travels, helped so many, and now ahead of me loomed another adventure, more people in need.

            I’d helped a lot of people in my time. Let’s hope that I could help a bit more.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be updating weekly!
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful editor forget_the_alias! I wouldn't be posting this at all if it wasn't for her patience and ability to turn my word vomit into something legible.


	3. Of Hell and Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once again Kali wakes in a now familiar place. What hellish torments will they inflict upon her this time? Can anyone truly save her?

            Why did it feel like I’d been chewed up and spit out by a High Dragon?

            Opening my eyes was a chore and I nearly convinced myself it wasn’t worth it. When the all-too-familiar ceiling came into focus, the wave of dread came crashing down like an unstoppable storm.

            “Makers flaming sword shoved up his own ass! Andraste’s _defiled ashes_!” The streams of curses spewed from me even as each screamed syllable worsened the pounding in my skull. Each word shoved more needles of pain into my eardrums, and every punctuated insult left my chest closing tighter and tighter.

            I scrambled from the bed and my legs gave out, unable to hold my weight for even a second. I threw my head back and howled with rage. Lungful after lungful of air hissed out and screamed back down my parched throat, and I shrieked and spat and roared until I was hoarse.

            “You sodding bastards! I am going to strip the skin from your inch by inch!” I bellowed, and my vision darkened and swam dangerously .   “I hope you’re listening! I swear on my ancestors I will see you dead at my feet! There is nothing in this world or the next that will get in my way!” My voice was broken, rasping, but they would witness my rage and my promise of their destruction. Even as my legs refused to hold my weight, I ranted on.

            “You think you know what agony is? You will _wish_ for death, _beg_ to be killed for days on end until I am finished with you!”

            I caught myself from falling face first into the floor, dark spots filling my eyes.

            “You’ve tormented your last!” I growled, and nearly burst into a coughing fit. “I will kill you all! I swear it by every deity, by the Paragons and the Stone, you will _suffer_.”

            At that I stood, and the effort almost ruined me. I felt weak, wavering on my feet and nearly pitching over. I tried to focus, tried to think beyond the pain and the anger.

            And then, worse than the pain and the disgust that I’d been dragged right back to where I’d escaped from, I began to doubt-myself, my memories.--; Some piece of my mind questioned if my escape, after all, had been just some damned delusion.

            I felt suddenly violently sick.

            I needed to be sure. Needed to know that returning to the village hadn’t been a sick and twisted dream, some hallucination brought on by the illness wreaking havoc in my veins, bent on breaking me. I wracked my brain for ways to tell if it had been true, if I’d ever actually left.

            Then I noticed my armor.

            My alternate leathers. I was wearing my other outfit. I _hadn’t_ made it up. I _had made it back_. I nearly collapsed for the relief that washed through me. At least I still had my Paragons-damned sanity, for what little comfort it gave me.

            Which begged the question: how did those sons of whores find me?

            I decided the next second that I resolutely didn’t give a horse’s arse--I just needed to escape again. And I doubted I’d be able to get out the same way.

            My legs gave way again, and so I crawled, pulling myself forward with shaking arms.   It was over an hour before I could force my muscles to obey my commands and allow me to stand without tumbling over.   My determination, as ever, cost me, but it won through.

            I made it to the main room. Unsurprisingly, the table and desk were gone, along with anything else I could have used to facilitate my jailbreak. Didn’t matter--I’d find something. I wouldn’t stop until either I was dead or they were.

            And, by the current feel of it, it might just be the former.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            The door I had broken was gone, sealed shut, and the front door was now warded with magic. I got a nasty burn up my left arm for just trying the handle. The blisters hurt to even to look at. I also noticed with unease that the strange bruises were multiplying.

            I destroyed anything I could get my hands on in my fit of rage. The sheets were ripped to shreds, a crack split the bed in two where it had landed, and various other baubles were crushed. I was never waking up in that place ever again.

            I paced before the fire, my arm bandaged with bits of sheet; the pain resulting every time I moved helped clear the cobwebs from my head. I purposefully flexed again and again.

            My legs gave out only occasionally, and thankfully the spasms didn’t snap my bones asunder...this time. I was beginning to wonder if I had grown tolerant of whatever poison they’d given me. I was pretty sure it was all tied to the bruises somehow.

            I’d get my answers. Then I’d kill them. Coming up with increasingly creative ways to make them suffer helped fill the void occupied by misery and spitting anger. I had too much time alone with my thoughts, and breaking things only got me so far.

            I was so focused that I wound up ignoring any noises coming from my surroundings. I was alone, and I took that entirely for granted. So certain was I that I nearly missed the sound of a door opening, of armor clinking.

            I froze, a growl crawling up my throat akin to a feral animal’s.

            There, before me, standing in the threshold of the now-open, magically warded door, was a Templar.

            I almost shook my head to clear it. A Templar? Of all things? Was I now hallucinating visually?

            My jaw popped from being clenched so tightly. And then words hit the too-still air, making me jolt.

            “You’re coming with us, dwarf,” the man commanded.

            All right, then. Maybe this was real. Which meant it was time to respond with real insults.

            “Kiss my ass, human,” I snarled. Damn, was he tall, even for a damned human – and covered in plate armor to boot.

            “I will not tolerate your insubordination, ground-kisser,” the Templar said, words terse. “You will come without incident.” His hand touched the pommel of the bastard sword -- quite fitting, and very amusing.

            “Kiss. My. Short. Ground-kissing. Ass.”

            Unfortunately, in a bout of excellent timing, my legs decided to cramp wickedly. I wobbled on my feet, grimacing in frustration, barely unable to maintain my precarious balance.

            “You can’t even stand straight.” The man looked on as I hobbled, his mouth curling with amusement. “What can you do to me?”

            Well, that was a challenge if ever I’d heard one..

            I staggered forward a bit, exaggerating my crippled state, and he laughed.

            That was, until I sprang forward and grabbed his gauntleted right hand, wrenching his arm up behind his back until it nearly popped out of his socket under the pressure. The sharp, short yelp of pain that escaped his mouth was music to my ears.

            “You should know a thing or two about the people you antagonize,” I growled and tightened my grip. “Especially if they’re dwarves. Now, I will dislocate your shoulder and leave you in a sobbing heap—unless you let me out of here.” I was beginning to shake, and I hoped he couldn’t feel the tremors spreading through my body. I didn't know how much longer I could hold him.

            “You don’t have it in you –” he began, so I planted myself more firmly and pulled. The sickening pop was followed by a howl of agony.

            “You bitch!” he spat, gasping. “You’ll pay for that!”

            I pulled again and heard the tear of weaker muscles. That had to hurt. The Templar’s scream confirmed that nicely.

            “You’re going to need a good healer or you’re going to lose the use of your sword arm.” I kept my grip. Adrenaline surged through me, hope blossoming in the place of helplessness.

            And then the bastard surprised me.

            “Alec, Owen! Get this bitch and dose her!”

            I paled. Damn it all to the blood drenched Fade! Of course he would have backup!

            I jerked his arm with all my might, leaving him half-screaming, half-sobbing, his limb hanging limp, and reached for his sword just as two pairs of hands grabbed me. They pulled at my ankles and wrists until I was stretched between them, unable to strike out. I kicked, cursing my short legs and stout frame.

            “But the boss wants her clear headed,” came the voice from my left.

            “I don’t give a fuck!” the wounded Templar snapped. “See what she did!" He displayed his arm, hanging uselessly at his side. "Dose her, then bring her in! Make it a double; I don’t need her pulling this shit around _him_.”

            I was barely listening. I twisted, trying to give them nothing but dead weight. Dwarves were heavy, packed full of dense bone and thick muscle. We could be damned heavy when we wanted. It did little, however—their grip was too firm, and I wasn’t nearly up to full strength.

            “Double?” This from the one to my right. “But it’s the new stuff -- it could kill her!”

            “Just do it,” the Templar bit out. “That’s an order!”

            I was so screwed. I thrashed again in desperation, and a hand came down, cracking across my face. I tasted the steel of a gauntlet. Blood gushed from the inside of my cheek, and I struggled to shape my anger into words.

            “Is that all you can manage?” I let out a wretched laugh. “Pathetic.” I spit out a gob of blood. "Children hit harder than that.”

            I absolutely had a death wish.

            “Dose her _now,_ damn it!”

            Something cool touched the insides of each of my wrists, and I screamed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            The darkness was torn away, scattered beneath the tearing, ripping pain in all of my joints as my muscles seized and cramped and wrenched me into impossible angles. Trying to force them to unclench was unbearable. The harder I tried, the more they pulled and tightened.

            Just as I thought they’d begun to ease, the spasms started in again afresh. As one tore through my neck, my head spun in a wash of bright colors. Voices began to filter through the color-spattered darkness.

            “You idiots!” That one hurt, a barbed lash of agony piercing down my back. “I needed her clear-headed!” Cat o’ nine tails with rusted hooks had nothing on that voice. It brought pain and rusty misery with it.

            I had thought my eyes were open, but opening them was, as with my joints, impossible to control; they felt melted shut. I opened my mouth to scream and nothing came out. Instead my spine twisted, at the whim of my rebelling muscles,, and I felt more and more like a rag being wrung out by heedless hands.

            “She nearly tore Derrik’s arm off.” That voice was a stab, sharp and swift, that made my knee twitch violently.

            “Then he was a fool.” There was that metaphorical lash of pain again, brought on by that awful, Paragon-shitting voice, and this time it sliced against my front.

            “Yes, Ser.” Gravel ground into my wounds.

            “Take her to the extra room and bring her back when she’s clear headed.” The whip of his taut voice tightened around my neck, squeezing more sharply with every word.

            “Right away, Ser.” Another stab at my knees, and world turned miserably bright and then exploded into little shards of stone.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            Cool sheets felt like ice against my burning skin. I couldn’t decide if I should wrap them around me more or throw them off. Then other sensations filtered in—all of them very, very bad--and I thrashed, my muscles deciding that however long I’d been unconscious was clearly too long to go without seizing. I tried to scream but no sound came from my ruined throat..

            Collapsing against the sweat soaked sheets; I waited until the last spasms ran their course and eventually chased themselves out of my body. I opened my eyes, finally. A white ceiling greeted me--not the cabin in the woods, then. I couldn’t remember how I got here; all I could recall were just vague wisps of almost-memories.

            A noise made me sit up--but very, very slowly, because my bones felt as if they’d been splintered.

            I resisted the urge to slap myself as hard as I could, or to dig my fingers into my skin until I bled to ensure I was truly awake, but it was too difficult to move in that moment. I blinked rapidly, clearing my watery vision. Nothing changed or shifted. With uncooperative, partly numbed fingers, I tried three times to pinch along the exposed skin of my inner arm. The pain was sharp and my skin blossomed white under the pressure, then red.

            Yup, I was awake.

            Then how was it I was both laying back on the bed and also standing at the foot of it, staring down at myself?

            I must be dead, facing my eternal punishment. A clever punishment, too; my greatest fear standing right there ready to torment me for eternity--me. Ah, well. At least I couldn’t screw up anymore if I was dead, right?

            “You know you shouldn’t think those things.”

            Yup, the version of me standing at the foot of the bed even behaved like me, right down to the disapproving tone and the weapons-roughened hands settling on her hips. She was dressed as I had been in Orzammar; in the shoddy armor of a duster brand. Her stance was one I knew well, exuding the “I’ve been kicked one too many times but I won’t back down” attitude that had taken years for me to break.

            “Well, I’m clearly dead,” I huffed back at her, “so what does it matter now?” I sat up then, carefully, adjusting myself until I was comfortable – or as comfortable as I could get while still shaking like a leaf in the wind. My head felt as though an abomination had decided to use it as a pillow, but it was my heart that gave me pause. The beats fluttered, erratic, faltering ever so. If I was dead, then why the hell was it beating against my ribs like a frightened, caged animal?

            “Who said anything about being dead?” she asked with a brazen quirk of her lips. My lips. So that’s what that expression looked like from the other side. Good to know it evoked the emotion I wanted it to. I honestly wanted to slap her – myself.

            Ah, eternity was going to be fun. I sighed.

            “Well, I am here,” I indicated the me on the bed, “and you’re me, too, but you’re over there,” I indicated her—me—at the foot of the bed, “then I can only be dead.” I tried not to sound too disappointed. Not that hiding the emotion from myself of all people made any sense, but old habits die hard. I’d tried my best to save those poor people; that was what mattered, right?

            She – me – laughed, and in such a mocking tone that I bristled immediately. Damn, I really needed a swift kick in the ass. I knew I wasn’t a saint, but apparently being a brand had really allowed me to hone those ‘annoy the shit out of people I don’t like’ mannerisms.

            “You’re perfect,” she said derisively, “yes it’s true.”

            Her sarcastic tone grated on every last undamaged nerve. Kudos to me for being a real bastard when I wanted to be.

            “But without me,” she continued cryptically, that smirk pulling higher, “you’re only you.”

            I resisted the urge to throw something. She--me--was taunting with just the right ammunition—my past. I wanted to forget all of that, put it properly behind me. I just wanted to save a few lives and leave my old one behind in the process.

            "Your heart bleeds enough for two,” she commented.

            Well, this was growing more and more frustrating. I wasn’t in the mood for annoying games, either. Either I was in the afterlife or I wasn’t, and if I was, then surely I could rant a little.

            “Will you shut your rambling mouth,” I cut in, rolling my eyes. “You’ve got eternity to torment me. Ease up a bit. Give me a day to recalibrate.”

            Oh, if only it worked that way.

            “You’re the one here that thinks you’re dead.” She crossed her arms, eyeing me impatiently.

            “Once again, I point out the conundrum—how else can there be two of us?”

            “Did I truly scratch my way out of the gutter only to become a daft, simpering idiot?” she asked. A flare of anger trickled through.

            “Hey! I’m not a simpering idiot!”

            ...Okay, I supposed that sounded a bit childish.

            “The Kali I knew would be busting that door down, not sitting here feeling pity for herself.” She pointed at the door in emphasis.

            Did I just not get it? Did part of me refuse to accept that I was dead? Maybe that was what this was, a sort of purgatory for my spirit while my brain tried to make sense of what was happening and accept it? No. No, I wouldn’t get my hopes up again.

            “Where would I go?” I asked, voice verging on a snarl. I was damned fed up with myself—quite literally. “I’m _dead_ , if you hadn’t noticed! It’s not like I can just revive myself!”    Wait… _was_ that possible? No--ridiculous to even think it.

            “You’re _not dead_!” the other version of me argued. “Revenge could be yours!”

            Blasted Paragons, I was getting tired of this. A headache bloomed in my skull. But...wait. Did the dead suffer headaches. Andraste’s floppy tits, that’d be salt in the wounds.

            “Yes,” I forced out, “yes, I damn well am! That bastard Templar got angry when I wrenched his pathetic arm, and he had his shitting back up dose me with too much—“ I waved my hand aggressively, at a loss, “—whatever in the Maker’s arse that poison was. Besides, you wouldn’t be here if I was alive!”

            With that, I got to my feet, growling against the pain as though I could make it stand down. I wasn't even sure how I remained on my feet; my body felt broken.

            “Damnit, Kali! Get a grip! You’re not dead!" Exasperation was layered on every word. "If you could just get it in that thick, nug-infested skull of yours, you’d be out the door to freedom right now!" Ah, there was my anger, the one that could nearly raze a man to ashes with one look. "You could avenge Lys’s lover! You could save countless lives from suffering as you have!”

            I had had enough. In death, you cannot save anyone. Least of all yourself.

            “ _Shut up_!” I grabbed the wooden mug next to the bed, wood cracking under fingertips as I sent it flying at her—at myself. Liquid arched in a lovely rain of droplets. The wooden cup sailed straight through her and hit something behind.

            The room twisted and spun, reminding me oddly of those braided sweetbreads I had tried once in Tevinter. When it finally stopped, when the vortex my mind had become quieted enough, I saw two Templars; one had droplets of water coursing down his gleaming armor, and the reality of it all came crashing down, leaving me dizzy.

            It hadn’t been a dream. It had been a really powerful, ridiculous hallucination – and apparently she—or rather, _I_ \--had been trying to tell myself that! And, as usual, I just wouldn’t listen. Stubbornness would be the death of me yet.

            And by the looks of it now, that might not be too much longer.

            “She’s still too drugged,” the doused Templar mumbled, wiping away the water clinging to his chestplate.

            “Boss doesn’t want to wait any longer,” the other responded, and I dropped to the floor, all strength gone – or mostly gone. I’d rather have them think I couldn’t walk, that I was weaker than I was.

           “Why not?”

            “Apparently three days is too much for him,” the dry one said, well, dryly.

            I pretended to struggle, halfheartedly, as they grabbed me. I did manage to cause a few bruises, a fact of which I was proud, as they dragged me out of the room by my upper arms. My shoulders would be hurting later, or rather, more so than they were now.

            My head hung down but I kept my gaze up, trying to memorize where we were.   Everything was odd for topsiders--the walls and floors felt wrong. We were either in a very big house, a castle, or in some nicely fixed-up tunnels. The coolness made me go with tunnels. There were plenty of mountains around, all of which had been mined for their precious ore generations ago.

            I pathetically tried to “walk," keeping up the drugged-out-of-my-mind charade, not that it was completely untrue. I was still seeing things that couldn’t be there. Faces would change or melt if I focused on something or someone for too long. It was more disturbing when whole people disappeared.

            We turned down a corridor, and suddenly I knew we were closer to the surface. Dwarves are good at telling which way is up, and about how far. Lots of practice.

            The hall began to widen, doubling in size. And that’s when I saw him. Everyone else was either Templar, decked out in full plate, militia-type armor, or human servants no better than slaves. There was not a single non-human, beside myself, which is why I could not believe my ears at first.

            “You’re going to have to deal with me, unless you want to wait a whole year for the other guy.”

            I knew that deep voice, but I almost didn’t want to believe it. I dragged my feet a little more, listening hard, waiting for the illusion the shatter.

"The fall of Kirkwall hit him a little too hard,” the familiar voice continued. “He can’t get away for another 6 months at least.”

            “Hey!” I protested. “I can walk!” I planted my feet and tried my best to pull my arms free. Yup, causing a scene was something I was quite good at, despite being a rogue. Sure enough, we rounded the tunnel, and a bronze- and golden-haired dwarf came into sight.

            My heart nearly stopped. My chest swelled with hope.

            The dwarf turned to see what the fuss was about. He could never turn down a good story or keep his nose out of things. Curious to a fault, always.

            “Suit yourself,” said the wet Templar, releasing me first, and I stood, unsteady for a moment, before starting forward. Every step I staggered a bit, and I knew they’d grab me soon enough, so I put just enough effort into walking straight to convince them. That was, until I faked a leg cramp.

            I watched Varric Tethras in small glances; he had seen me and recognized me, but he covered up his shock quickly. Ever the story-spinner, quick to react. I fell into him with an exaggerated cry of pain, and those strong, callused hands came around, holding me up as my fingers gripped that well-worn leather duster. I didn’t know where Bianca was, (I was sure not very far, since he never went anywhere without her), but she wasn’t slung on his back.

            “I’m so sorry my lord.” I tried my best to sound embarrassed, as if I were just another lowly brand crossing the path of a higher-born dwarf. I was banking on the Templars not understanding Dwarven culture. “I’m just so clumsy.” The guards were rushing to grab me; I had only moments. “Varric,” I whispered urgently, and he glared at me, quite convincingly.

            “You’d better watch it, brand!” he rebuked. That gruff voice was reassuring to my ears.

            “So sorry!” I tried to get away and let my legs collapse completely. The guards were on me in a second, apologizing, offering lies about an accident and a leg injury.

            “Blue Dales, the inn, find Lys.” It was barely a whisper. “Help me,” I managed between more apologies, these loud enough for the Templars’ ears.

            “Get off me, you filthy brand!” He shoved me away, but not before squeezing my arm three times. He had heard, had understood. I crumpled to the floor, only half playing.

            “Paragons bless you, my lord.” The guards hauled me up and away from the only friendly face around.

            “Come on,” the dry Templar said gruffly, “off to the infirmary for you.”

            My shoulder screamed for being wrenched so hard. I could hear Varric grumbling with the man, who was apologizing profusely. I heard mention of the Guild cutting ties and the other man shrieked in protest. The whole act was quite funny, and I felt a threadbare smile touch my lips as I was pulled down a different hallway, and then I couldn’t hear them anymore.

            Part of my chest ached at the loss of that voice. Hope blossomed even as dread began to strangle it. How would he even get me out of this?

            I was dragged jerkily down a narrow corridor, and we ran into even more humans. A couple of turns put us at a door, simple but rugged and magically reinforced. A knock, quiet and hesitant, made me lift my head to watch the knights more closely. They were nervous; I readied myself to face the big boss.

            The door opened and a man ushered us in. Not the boss’s room then? It took me a second to realize it was a waiting room, instead. Of course the boss man would have a waiting room. I guess I had to wait some more, then. The Templar to my left released me and I let myself sag to the floor. It would be better if they continued to underestimate me.

            I studied the room while I had the chance. The place was tidy, a few chairs and a small table off in the corner, as well as a shelf with a handful of books and the customary fireplace taking up most of the room. The Templar who’d released me headed to the door opposite the one we had entered. He hesitated for a long moment, then straightened, squared his shoulders, and knocked.

            If the _Templars_ were afraid of this man, I was going to be in a world of hurt... Or dead. I continued to play drugged to the gills, even as a mouse of a man, dressed more like a noble advisor than a knight, walked up. He was probably the errand boy; bald, watery blue eyes, all pointy joints. He seemed to be a nervous type prone to licking boots; I hated those kinds of men.

            He examined me at arm’s length, a disgusted look on his pinched face. “Messeir wanted her clear headed,” he said agitatedly. He even sounded like a rat. “Not a mess.”

            “Boss wanted her now." There was a hint of a command in the Templar’s voice. "She can talk, at least.” He grabbed my chin, and I gladly would have chopped off choice bits of his anatomy for that.

            “Isn’t that right?” His grip tightened.

            I could have tried to bite him, but instead I played up the weakened-and-hurting act. I whimpered.

            “Y-y-yes!” I stuttered out. I needed them to buy that I was no threat. I just needed one small opportunity.

            “Alec, he will see her now.” The rat of a man droned. My skin crawled just listening to him.

            I was dragged in by one arm as I feebly attempted to use my legs. We reached the door and I let out a shriek of pain as I was thrown to the floor. I was pretty sure my shoulder dislocated.

            “That’s for Derrick’s arm, bitch,” the Templar growled.

            “Now, now, Alec, there’s no need for that.” The voice made me go very still. “Derrick was the fool for letting her get the better of him.”

            Bile rose in my throat. The hairs on the back of my neck lifted. I had heard that voice, whispering to me back at the cabin.

            I turned my head just a little bit, just enough to see his eyes, but I already knew them to be steel gray flecked with gold. I knew those eyes, I realized. I had seen them in swirling bouts of madness, in between impossible images and melting hallucinations. Only, he had been real. _Was_ real. And I could still see my death in those eyes.

            “Sorry, Ser,” Alec apologized, snapping into a salute before taking up a guard-stance by the door.

            “You’ve caused quit the ruckus, dwarf,” the man said calmly. His gaze roved over me as I shook and trembled, and out of sheer pride, I attempted to right myself as much as possible.

            “I-I-I’m sorry,” I mumbled, but he just laughed.

            “Forget the lies." There was humor there, in that voice, in those eyes, dark and twisted. "You maimed one of my best knights. I do not believe you to be anything other than a solid threat playing possum.”

            Damn. So he was smarter than his dumber-than-dirt Templar lackeys. Not that that said much, but still. It would be wiser to tread carefully here, feel him out.

            I sighed and got to my feet. This time the shaking was real. “And who do I have the pleasure of killing last, then?” I asked, and he laughed again as I met that poisonous gaze.

            “I sincerely doubt you’ll be able to,” he said with a smile, “but you may call me Ser Morgan.” The name didn’t ring any bells and I cocked my head, raising an eyebrow. Morgan? Shouldn’t evil men have those impressive names that made you think ‘villain’?

            “Take a hint, human,” I said, enunciating every word very clearly. Varric had said that once to a scoundrel who didn’t understand that no meant no. “I don’t die very easily, especially not at the hands of some madman.”

            Ser Morgan cocked a faintly amused eyebrow. “You have no idea what we are trying to do here, do you?”

            I barked out a laugh, more from nerves than anything else.

            “Does it matter?” I asked, feigning disinterest.

            “Humans were made to rule this world,” Ser Morgan said simply. “We intend to take what is ours.” I must have looked confused because he continued. "Elves, Dwarves, Qunari--each of them have their own strengths, advantages over humanity, and I intend to find a way around those. Magic, magical resistance, abnormal strength – once those are neutralized, we will slaughter every last one of you.”

            I paled. He wasn’t just mad–he was genocidal.

            “I see you didn’t include mages on that list,” I commented, keeping my voice casual. A notable omission, since they were usually enemy number one for Templars.

            Ser Morgan nodded in acknowledgement. “They have their uses…” he admitted, letting the sentence trail off with a small curve to his lips.

            I didn’t like the sound of that. Or the look of his smile. A shiver ran down my spine.

            “They are a lot of fun in bed,” I said.

            I almost burst out laughing at the fleeting flicker of disgust on his face. So that facade could crack. I’d probably be lashed or drugged into a stupor for the insolence, but Paragons, it had been worth it.

            “To business,” Ser Morgan said, without a hint of annoyance. “Now, I suppose you’re wondering why you, a wandering dwarf with a penchant for life-or-death situations, were chosen by...my illustrious Knights.” I scoffed, thinking of the Templar whose arm I’d dislocated. “It’s simple. I brought you here because you...are an anomaly.”

            I didn’t like the sound of that one bit.

            "Our other subjects perished after 3 days or less,” Ser Morgan glanced down at a sheet of vellum on his desk, “and yet here you are alive and well.” He looked up at me again. “Though not quite well, but that’s to be expected.”

            I leveled a glare at him.

            “My mages have been unable to determine why that is. And I can’t complete my experiments if you continue to run off.” He shifted the papers on his desk. “So you see—I’ve expended a lot of resources on you.”

            I raised an eyebrow.

            “Your broken back set one of my healers back an entire week.” Wait--when had my back been broken? “You will stop this foolish behavior, now.” He actually managed to sound like a disapproving parent as he said that, and it pissed me right off.

            “If you think for one second that I won’t try to escape your twisted little shithole, then you’re more delusional then I thought.” I crossed my arms over my chest in defiance; the movement hurt, but apparently my shoulder wasn’t quite as bad as I’d thought.

            “Yes,” Ser Morgan said, unfazed. “I was afraid of that.”

            He didn’t sound “afraid of that” at all. I didn’t like his tone.

            “Speaking of my escape,” I said, because I despised talking to this loathsome human, but curiosity got the better of me, “how did you know where to find me? Did someone feed you information?”

            “My mages have that under control; we always know where you are.” Cold dread flushed through my veins. “Now…” He picked up some papers and tapped them into a neat pile. “This insubordination will cease. I will not humor your childish tantrums anymore.”

            He put the papers aside. I waited for the “or else.” I wasn’t disappointed.

            "If you do not comply, I will arrange for some unfortunate things to happen to some people that you care about.” Faces flashed through my mind. No. He couldn’t known about _them_. Panic froze me to the spot for a moment, and the impulse to grab the sheets of paper before him seized me. I snagged it off his desk, and he let me. It was simple--three columns of names, places, and _methods_ ….

            _Anna, market, raped_ , the top line read, I shook, stomach clenching with bile. I skimmed down the names, seeing too many I had helped or shown kindness to, even those that offered me aid as far back as the last six months.

            On the very bottom, still drying, was Varric’s name. For what? Why had they included him? They couldn’t have known our previous connection. I hadn’t seen him in years.

            For him, the place was the Gray Marsh Road. The method... Beaten to death by bandits. They would be in for a surprise, I thought bitterly. Bianca knew how to take care of bandits.

            “What makes you think this will stop me?” I asked, and I almost kept the tremor out of my voice in favor of forced haughtiness. Almost.

            “Because, dwarf,” and Ser Morgan said this with the air of a man who had already slipped his blade into his enemy and was simply waiting for them to fall, “you are a good person.” I bit my tongue. “And a good person does not allow their friends to be harmed because of said good person’s mistakes.”

            He had me there. In my mind, I hissed and raged and howled.

            “Then you’re just going to have to kill me,” I said, leaning threateningly over his desk, “because I will find another way out of here.”

            Ser Morgan contemplated me for a long, drawn moment. Then he sighed.

            “Fine. The children can have you.”

            Children? Seriously? Kids? What kind of sick fuck was he?

            “They’re in need of practice,” he murmured, as if convincing himself of the option. “Your data would have skewed my results anyhow.”

            With that he waved a hand, and Alec moved from his place at the door, snatching me by my bad shoulder. I gritted my teeth. Always the bad shoulder, damn it!

            I was dragged from the room, vengeance singing through my blood. They still underestimated me, still thought of me as lesser. I’d show them all and I’d make them—especially Ser Arsehole Morgan—pay.

            “She’s being given to the children,” Alec whispered as he yanked me out of the room. The trembling chord in his voice was unmistakable.

            The other knight grabbed my other arm and they pulled me along. I didn’t fight too much, only stumbling a little bit. We reached a gargantuan room; the ceiling domed and made of glass. The sun shone in over a bed of sprawling plants, the foliage akin to some weird jungle.

            From the flora they came, children of all different ages, some appearing as young as four or five, while others could have easily been sixteen or seventeen. They were gaunt, with skin stretched tightly over protruding bones, and every single last one had a hungry expression.

            I liked this less and less.

            “Boss says you lot get to have her,” Alec announced, sounding nervous. He tightened his grip on me. I barely noticed, my attention snagged instead by the crystals hanging around each of their necks. Glowing red with a streak of blue, like lyrium, they were about a hand’s length long and pointed—and probably able to inflict a good amount of damage, too. The skin on my wrists seared slightly.

            “Fresh meat,” one boy whispered. He looked about ten..

            “Fresh meat,” another affirmed, a girl of six or seven.

            My eyes slowly widened.

            “Don’t make too much of a mess,” Alec warned. “You know Father doesn’t like that.”

            They shied away physically at the word Father. What in the name of Andraste’s blood-drenched knickers was going on? And why did I feel like a steak all of the sudden?

            The Templar let go and retreated from sight without further prompting. I took a deep breath and watched them, waiting for sudden movement signaling an attack.

            There was nothing for it, then. “So, kids,” I said, keeping my voice level as they surrounded me like a pack of blighted wolves, “do you know how Father tracks us?”

            They hesitated, circled around me.

            “Uncle Tristen keeps a close eye on all of you,” an older boy replied cryptically.

            “Likes to play with blood, he does.” This from a girl of five. Ah, a blood mage. Just what I needed.

            “So he took some of my blood? He must have liked that then?” If I kept this up, maybe I could inch my way out.

            “Oh yes, vials of red litter his shelves.” Well, crap, then, how would I find mine? A hand brushed my side and I panicked, turning fast. A girl of three was there, with blond hair and bright blue eyes.

            “I’m hungry,” she said in the oddly eerie, high-pitched voice characteristic of a little child. “Feed us.”

            With that, she stabbed out at me with a tiny blade. The mob fell in on me as I kicked and hit, feeling teeth and nails sink into yielding flesh. Something skinned my arm and I screamed.

            That did it. Kid gloves _off—_ no pun intended. Children went flying.

            I never killed kids, couldn’t bring myself to do it, but these-- _these_ weren’t children anymore. They were worse than abominations. Innocent children turned cannibalistic, minds twisted by their own families. It was horrifying. I watched as they descended on their own fallen comrades. It was sickening to see them tear into flesh with skeletal hands. It was worse than darkspawn.

            I ran, using the distraction to my advantage. I listened for pursuers and avoided the passages I knew to be occupied as I tried to find my way back to the surface. I needed to find an exit before my luck ran out.

            There! A room turned hallway, full of barrels. A good hiding spot. I needed to catch my breath anyway--agony was racing along my arm – and sure enough along my wrist was that odd bruising. It had to be those crystals. I had no idea why or how or even what, but I’d bet my sweet ass it was what had been used to drug me.

            I stilled, hearing movement.

            “Uncle, are you sure she’s near here?” The voice of another crazy little girl.

            “Yes, my sweet. I will be right down the hall with a treat for you after you find her. Now run off and get to her before there’s a ruckus.” If he hadn’t been saying awful things I would have been tempted to say he spoke very nicely.

            Footsteps echoed on the stone. I held my breath. They wandered haphazardly around. Things clacked together as barrels moved. I was a rogue; hiding was my specialty. I would not be –

            Fuck, she found me.

            The grin on her little face sent a nasty chill down my spine.

            “Uncle was right. Adrianna, she’s here!”

            I launched myself towards the door as an older girl stepped out, crimson crystal raised. I had only a moment to realize what she was doing before it came down and plunged into my injured shoulder. I jerked and felt the tip break off as it came free. I couldn’t scream. The pain wired my jaw shut. Instead, I shoved forward with what strength I had and fled. Power pulsed through my blood from that shard, agonizing and alien.   I stumbled onward, fighting the urges to give in to the pain. I went in the direction I had heard the blood mage head.

            Uncle Tristen’s room wasn’t far at all. I could smell the blood; there was so much of it. An elf lay on the table, cut open and organs removed, but no Tristen. Thank the Maker’s long cock for that.

            The world was graying around the edges as I grabbed an unfinished staff and swung. I wasn’t as graceful as the mages who wielded them on a regular basis, but it did what it was meant to. Vials shattered and fell in a rain of crimson. I smashed everything I could reach. Shelves full of viscous scarlet liquid told me just how many victims had been tortured - just how many had died at the hands of these monsters. They wouldn’t get away, not now.

            The rage was a welcome heat, a sweet lover that I knew too well. It caressed me and took me spinning higher as I smashed and swung and broke everything, making sure I left nothing whole.

            The blood of too many dead victims decorated my entire body when I took off, leaving the carnage behind. I didn’t know where I was going, only that my body would hold on long enough if I forced it to. The pulses in my arm were getting worse, and I felt the unmistakable building of spasms as pain burst through my skull.

            I wasn’t going to make it.

            I was going to die here.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


	4. What is Real?

            Shattered.

            Fragmented.

            Broken.

            The world was no longer whole. Shards drifted in the darkness, granting tantalizing glimpses of something that dared to sparkle in the dreaded dark.

            Reality twinkled amidst the razor slivers.

            Bright sun and shining stars collided into tiny novas of brilliant fire. Pinpoints of glittering light began to dim and darken.

            The green of leaves drifted down, spiraling until they withered and browned. That crunchy, once-living foliage changed and elongated, roughened into a cliff face.

            Feathers beat and wings fluttered to the ground before stilling.

            Sparkling diamonds rained down in a wash of rainbows. Confusion bloomed as the gems crashed and crackled against my skin, liquefying in an instant.

            Cool, clean, and crisp against my mouth, down my throat. It covered me in a cloak of crystal that shattered at the lightest touch when the shadows consumed me once more.

            The darkness was not complete--it was a penumbra of color; swirling, shifting, ever moving, ever changing. Blues and purples mixed in a glorious shimmer.

            I turned to it, to that starburst of lustrous wonder. The colors warped, morphing into a crimson so hungry, so _greedy_ , it threatened to consume everything.

            The blue was yanked but did not budge. Red flowed along the delicate cobalt lattice, each touch tarnishing. Threads of azure blazed more brightly, fighting back, trying to hold its own against the onslaught.

            Pulses came from the burgundy mass. Each oscillation cut through the numbing dark and tore primal screams from forgotten lips. Pain was supposed to be a faraway dream, something that shouldn’t be possible in the places that do not exist. But it _was_ there. Fingers of agony shoved under phantom flesh, and they wormed their way like maggots trying to eat through a corpse.

            A touch, sharp and sudden, was there, on the edge of awareness. Something spoke of beyond the shade, beyond the dark. How could that be? There was only the nothingness now.

            Wisps wrapped, burrowing in deeper and infecting every inch of my specter body with that sanguine glow. The red took root; cerulean coils ceased to illuminate.

            Then it began. The visions of red faltered. The pain of its loss was a blow nearly too great to withstand.

            Cold fire seared in the wake of vermilion absence. Tingling agony refused to abate at the loss. In an instant the larger tendrils of vines were wrenched.

            A broken, fragmented scream shattered the darkness.

            Sounds, sights, and feelings flooded deadened senses in an overwhelming wash. Even as it came back the hooked sanguine barbs held tight, refusing to let go of their prize.

            “It doesn’t look good.” A voice, something I once had.

            A lash of agony, insistent, coming over and _over._ Pain coiled around my shattered body.

            Icy daggers cut along ephemeral convulsing limbs to battle the sudden warmth. Sensations clashed in a brutal war that abused unstable nerves.

            Curling crimson talons closed around a sputtering heart, tightening along the abused muscle, slowing its fluttering. To let go would be too easy.

            “She’s going to make it." A stubborn balm to the chaos, something worth holding onto. More insolent senses leaked through the veil, filling the gaps made in the shadows.

            “There’s nothing I can do.” Acid dripped down and began to eat through the threads. The corrosion continued to burn away the life, the ties that still obstinately protected that stubborn spark the claws could not yet touch. Cold chased the acerbic burn, freezing all. A sharp crack echoed as spider web cracks fissured in the darkness.

            “Don’t go giving up on me, darling.” A touch on transitory skin, the pressure light, and it seared. Chest-wrenching pain began as lungs expanded once more. Awareness drifted in--that the organs were needed in order to continue to function.

            The in-between was a dangerous place to linger. With one foot in the Fade and the other in reality, it was a dagger’s-edge path that cut both ways. The blade sliced at shadowed flesh, parting the phantom muscle, exposing viscera to the all-encompassing shadow. Reality acted as an anchor, brought sensation to the dead places. Reality became a reminder of pain and of other, less desirable things. It gave fuel to the dark, caused the ravenous gloom to hunger for more. That living nothingness did not want to let go. Those hungry chains of red pulsed in the darkness even as they cracked and crumbled. The crimson buildings continued to destroy; to rend, rip, to tear at everything until giving up was the only safe option.

            It would not give up its toy.

            “Fight it, sweetheart.” New ropes formed. Brought with it a hold blazing painfully bright, and it pulled me towards reality, towards that unending pain.

            "You owe me a tale, and I won’t let you get away without hearing it.” Another coil of cords, gleaming battered bronze, started to chase the rust away.

            Awareness stole in: chest heaving, lungs fighting for more breath as another scream broke through, fracturing the venomous scarlet even more, sending fractures through the links.

            “Do something!” The metal pulsed suddenly as more of me became solid.

            “Don’t do this, darling--fight it.” I could see for a blissful moment, free of haze, free of darkness. That familiar face was there and it connected to a voice, a soothing one rough around the edges. That tawny hair was disheveled and I wanted nothing more than to brush it back behind an ear. It was a monumental task but my hand moved, raised towards him. I brushed the end of the errant strand, the motion catching his attention. Eyes like dark honey roved over me as hands curled around mine, a wave of heat spreading to counter the frost.

            “Varric…”

            That was my voice. I had forgotten it.

            “Kali…” He had used my name--that was significant, but I did not know why. I could not contemplate it because the voracious darkness swallowed me whole once more.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            Maker’s big bloody, infection-laced, limp cock did my body hurt.

            Opening my eyes after what felt like decades was painful. I let my eyes focus, and the moment I did the panic set in. Terror clawed at my lungs, freezing them, a silent scream stuck in my throat as I jolted upright, even as every little muscle protested.

            The terror faltered ever so slightly. Varric was standing by a table, staring at something. His scruffy appearance was even more so than usual. I remembered. Fragments of my hallucination trickled in, visions of seeing myself and the agony of that trickery. I could not afford to trust my mind again.

            My hand closed around a fallen damp cloth. Cool water slid down my temple.

            I balled up the rag and threw it even as stitches pulled painfully. My dominant hand was not hampered, but handling a second dagger would take some time and recuperation. I watched the sodden cloth sail and land on its intended target, right on the side of his head.

            It didn’t go through him at all. He was real, then! I wasn’t captive anymore!

            “Is that any way to treat an old friend?”

            I stared at him, too happy in that brief moment to conjure up words to speak. Relief danced in his eyes, annoyance not even touching the words.

            I didn’t think of my abused body, of the chance I couldn’t do it. I just acted.

            Sheets went flying as my bare feet touched cool wood. I surged towards him as if there were a Shriek at my heels. My arms fell around his neck, my face buried against his bare chest. My lips were moving and my ears registered after a moment that I was whispering his name over and over again.

            A dam broke in me. My strength gave out as I shook, unable to control it anymore. Tears threatened to spill from my itchy eyes. I set teeth into my lower lip to stem the oncoming tide.

            He hadn’t made a move to return the embrace and it stung. Maybe I shouldn't have expected such familiarity, after all--it had been years. I began to bottle up the pain, the panic. Nothing was ever accomplished in the throes of hysteria.

            I began removing myself when a spasm started in my shoulder, moving like fire from muscle to muscle down my back, across hips and thighs and into already weak calves. Salty tears spilled out as I fell, the feeling so familiar I didn’t even try to stop it. Strong arms were suddenly there, crossbow-calloused hands keeping me upright.

            He didn’t ask. No jokes about damsels in distress crossed those sly lips. He didn’t say anything. It was so unlike the Varric I knew that I was sure for a moment it couldn’t be him. I was certainly still stuck in a hallucination.

            Tremors wracked my body, leaving me unable to stay still. I was sure my legs would hold. I’d survived this long; I would continue to hold my own.

            “I’m ok,” I whispered. “I can stand.”

            I quaked, tiny tremors wracking though me as if I were shivering from a blizzard. He hesitated a moment before letting go. Shadows lingered in those usually teasing eyes.

            What had happened to change him so?

            “Hungry?” He looked towards the table and moved away. I grit my teeth, trying to force my muscles to quiet, to obey.

            “A little.” The words spoken from my lips felt far away, as if the conversation were happening to someone else, somewhere normal. From a crate next to the table he pulled out a loaf of bread, and damn, it smelled good.

            “I’m expecting a hot meal anytime,” he told me.

            I hesitated. It all felt so awkward, without the quips, the teasing, the usual Varric-ness.

            “Sounds wonderful.” I took the crusty end he offered and felt the warmth seeping out as I nibbled. I could not remember the last time I’d had food. My stomach did not protest the small bites, to which I was grateful.  

            The steady sting on my shoulder finally gave way to a giant throb. “Andraste’s pierced right nipple... I may have torn those stitches.”

            Damn, that dwarf could move. He was behind me in a heartbeat.   Deep, throaty curses and blasphemies tumbled around me in a long string of profanity.

            “What am I going to do with you, darling?” he asked, and there was a blanket of familiar warmth beneath those words. I stood still as he cut at the robe to get at bare skin. I should have made some quip, some joke about him taking my clothes off. Nothing came to mind, my thoughts far too jumbled for the innuendo.

            "Awake for ten minutes and you’re already bleeding," he murmured, inspecting the wound. I chuckled, his words holding a sliver of the lightness it had once held.

            “How long was I out?”

            His touch hesitated against my shoulder.

            “Four days from when we found you.”

            I choked back a shocked sound. Maker’s great flabby arse, four days?

            “And…” I almost stopped myself from asking, but I needed to know. “How long from when you saw me in the tunnels?” I really didn’t want the answer.

            He paused before answering. “Three days.”

            My mouth dropped open for a moment. A whole _week..._ a _whole week_ was missing. How had I even gotten out? How had I survived three days? How was I not dead? The trembling was worse, growing in intensity with every question, every doubt, every criticism of what had gone on. There was so much I could have done.

            My lungs burned. I had held my breath too long. Panic strangled my windpipe, climbing upward, building towards eruption. A hand touched my arm and I could barely meet Varric’s gaze, could barely stand to be in my own skin in that moment. I was weak, pathetic--after all I had been through, _this_ was pushing me over the edge? I was better than this.

            I couldn’t take this quiet Varric. The tip toeing he had started was killing me slowly. I wasn’t some blown glass bauble ready to shatter. I needed him to be himself, to give me a sense of normalcy. Andraste's flaming pyre, when had I started needing others to pull me together?

            “I’m just a hot mess aren’t I?”

            “A mess, certainly,” he shot back quickly, almost as a reflex. “But a cold one.” His hand was like fire as it wrapped around my forearm, sliding down to my clenched fist. I hadn’t noticed my nails digging into my palms, leaving bloody crescents. Seeing the smear of crimson, feeling that pain, eased some of the deadly tension.

            “Food and a bath, then. That should have me right as rain.” It came out flat. I just couldn’t push past that wall that told me that I was deluding myself, that soon I’d wake up back in the care of Ser Morgan.

            Varric smiled and squeezed my hand a little.

            “Darling...” he started. He sounded worried again.

            “And then I owe you a story, don’t I?” I vaguely recalled him saying that, when his voice had broken through the black at some point.

            “You don’t—” I gave him a very un-amused look, and he changed his answer quickly. “Right. That you do, darling.”

            With that the food arrived.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            Clean, and with a stomach full for the first time in Andraste knew how long, I sat at the table and began my tale. I watched Varric carefully as I started with my arrival at Blue Dale, working my way to the day I woke up here. As I began telling of what had been done to me, I couldn’t look at him anymore. Instead I stared at my hands, twisting a ripped piece of fabric between my bruised fingers. Twining the fraying, sun-bleached cloth was soothing in a way.

            I couldn’t keep the emotion out of my voice, the pain as I got to my escape, to my one day of illusion; I had thought I was free. I tried so hard not to let it get the best of me, to just tell the story as if I had not lived every painful second of it.

            I reached the part with the Templars and had to take a breath. What came next I could have glossed over, could have put a spin on the hallucination, but I didn’t. He had saved me and deserved the full truth.

            My voice broke and I reached for my mug, the cool water soothing to my tight throat. I risked a glance at him; he had a white-knuckled grip on Bianca. He’d taken to polishing her at some point in my tale, probably to have something to preoccupy his hands, and if it had been any other weapon I was sure it would have splintered under the pressure.

            When I told of throwing the cup at myself, and how it had been my mind playing tricks on me, I heard him laugh, a nervous bark that made me smile just a little bit. He fell silent once more as I managed to tell him, in a hoarse voice, of Ser Morgan’s plan.

            I had to take a drink before I told him about the children, the vision of them ripping apart their own, of eating their kin in frenzy while the meat was still fresh. I wished I had something strong--Legacy White Shear would have been perfect to try and erase the horrors I wish I hadn’t seen. My hands shook and I felt like I was back there, trapped in that conservatory with those little monsters. I stared but did not see, unable to tear myself from the memory of those abominations coming for me, that hunger burning in sunken eyes.

            A flash of pain slashed through it, shattering the memory and forcing me back to the present. I did not stop, kept on with the story as if nothing had happened. I snuck a glance to Varric and saw concern plain on his features. He wasn’t even trying to hide it from me.

            Pain was a bridge, a way to connect to reality when tendrils tried to pull me down, attempted to bring me back, to make me believe things that were not true. Agony was my lash, my bindings, my freedom. Without it I would have succumbed to that living darkness. I had used it so many times in that haze, to clear my head, that it didn't feel strange to use; that should have troubled me – set off some kind of warning bells, but there was nothing inside telling me to stop and that scared me.

            I finished up my tale by telling him of the darkness, and how it nearly had won in taking me, if not for a very persistent and rather annoying voice that had wormed its way in.

            “Well,” Varric said, after a long pause, “Bianca is grateful that you didn’t throw something pointier at my head.”

            Silence for a moment before I threw my head back and laughed. I couldn’t get enough air, I was laughing so hard. I laughed until my sides started hurting and tears began leaking out.   Humor cured a lot of ills in my book. I rested my head on the table as I learned to breathe once more.

            “I believe these are yours, darling.”

            When I picked my head back up, slowly, from the table, Varric was suddenly beside me, a smirk on those devilish lips and a courier or three beyond him. They were carrying crates.

            I felt beyond confused for a moment before gleaming black and silver caught my eye. I was on my feet reaching for the breastplate in the blink of an eye. The world narrowed to that completed piece of metal.

            “He finished it…” I breathed. “I can’t believe he managed to do it!” I looked up from where I was kneeling. “Varric…” I grinned, pure unadulterated joy spilling over me, I felt normal again – not broken beyond repair. “Thank you” I said quietly, reaching for another piece of the set. “How did you--?”

            “You see, darling, there was this extremely clumsy brand that fell into me..."

            Yes, I thought with a bright grin, I remembered that. And despite his hatred of the caste system, he had played along nicely.

            "She pleaded so nicely,” Varric finished, “how could I say no.” Mischief sparkled in those amber eyes. “Lys gave me this.” He produced the lockbox and handed it to me. “Now I have no idea why anyone would leave bracers as a clue as to what in Andraste’s cock-shaped sword is going on." He shook his head, a stray strand of gold curving down. "Only you, darling, would be paranoid enough to hide a note in some impossible secret compartment.”

            I smiled. He was one of the handful of individuals I knew who would have figured it out; curious and clever, be still my trembling heart.

            "I didn't have time to send someone to the cache you mentioned,” Varric was saying. “You'll have to tell me one day why you have a chest secreted away in the Blackmarsh."

            “One day... " I replied, softly. Not a conversation I wanted anytime soon. "Why were you here in the first place?”

            It felt like another lie, another hallucination, far too convenient to be real. I wanted to scratch away my skin, feel the pain wash away the tricky ultrasound.

            He smirked and told me about taking leave of Kirkwall and going off with some mercenary band until things settled down. They had been hired three months earlier to find an elven women who had disappeared on her way to Antiva. Australia had fled the Alienate, but kept in contact with her sister. The last letter mentioned a village near Blue Dales where they ended up. All signs had pointed to the gated Templar-run community.

            “So, darling, your suspicions were correct,” Varric remarked. “You’d make one hell of a mystery writer if you’d put that skilled mind to it.” A straight-up compliment from Varric… maybe I needed to pinch myself extra hard this time.

            I raised an eyebrow and my smirk grew.

            “Well,” he added, “nowhere near my caliber of course.”

            I laughed; it felt good. If only it could last.

            “Varric….” My smile faltered. “Thank you again.”

            “Darling, if you think for one second that I’m not going to help you go after those nug-licking bastards, then you must still be drugged.”

            Hope swelled in my chest.

            “I’d be honored to have you along for my blood-thirsty revenge mission, Messeir,” I said in my best imitation of a lowly servant. That wrought a mighty laugh.

            “Come on, darling,” he said, his eyes warm, “you’ve got injuries that need looking at, and then—rest.”

            I raised a stubborn eyebrow.

            “That’s an order, brand.” So teasing; but with a touch of hesitation, he probably didn’t know how I’d react to that.

            I stood on shaky legs and bowed.

            “Yes, right away, oh great Messeir. I shall snap right to it, O’ Legendary Merchant Prince.”

            I couldn’t keep a straight face through that, and neither could he.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            It burned, the invisible fire licking up my arm, questing fingers of agony that knew no mercy. There was more blue this time, shining, matching the red in strength and power. The lines of energy twined together as they flowed out over my chest and down, seizing my lungs, my heart. The beating faltered; my breath stopped as roots took hold and squeezed. I fought it, struggling against invisible bonds in that darkness that consumed all. Willing my body to function, to move, to draw breath and beat. I would not go down without one hell of a fight.

            A ragged scream came out as oxygen finally entered paralyzed airways. The hands that gripped me and held me down were cold--no, not cold – covered in metal. That darkness lifted enough to see plate mail gleaming. Templars, that’s what they were, and they were holding a glowing crystal to the bend of my arm, right over the pulsing vein.

            “That’s enough for now.” That voice, that clinical, calculating voice. “Observe her reactions.”

            No, no, no, no, no, no, NO! I had gotten away, I couldn’t be back! Varric had found me! I didn’t believe it!

            “Oh, believe it. Did you think you could get away so easily?” My voice, cruel and cold. I was standing off to the side, eyes flat and expression dark.

            “NO!" I’d die, I would end it myself before allowing myself to stay there one more minute. I thrashed and that metallic grip tightened painfully, keeping me still.

            “Now, now, we must observe the subject and not influence her.” That voice seared through my head and I screamed out as I saw those terrifyingly cold eyes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

            I sat straight up.

            Sweat dripped down my face. A cry died on my lips as I looked around, trying to clear my head of what I had seen, what I had felt.

            I grabbed skin between my fingers and applied pressure. The pain blossomed and faded, but nothing changed; the room didn’t spiral, the walls didn’t liquefy, and Varric was still there huddled over some paper, quill poised to write.

            An inky droplet fell down and I knew he was watching me: rogues were good at observing on the sly, but that drip gave it all away. The ever careful Merchant Prince would never allow such a mistake to grace one of his missives otherwise.

            I forced air in and out to try and steady the dangerously fast beats of my heart. I gave in to the terrible temptation.

            I pulled my knees to my chest and buried my face against them. Was this how it was going to be from now on? Fragmented nights and questioning everything around me?

            I was exhausted. I hadn't slept that long.

            Damn that dwarf for being right! I needed real sleep, not some drugged imitation. I knew, though, I’d force myself to stay awake to prevent those dark tendrils from snaring me again. It was easy enough to get hold of stamina draughts these days, praise Andraste's dimpled ass for the herbalist that came up with them.

            “Darling, are you alright?” I was really starting to hate that worried tone. I didn’t reply, not sure I would say something nasty or not. My emotions were all over the place, every little one that cropped up growing out of proportion. I wasn't some young dwarf who lost my Paragon’s given level-headedness over someone's _tone_. Maker's rotten breath, what had they given me?

            I concentrated on breathing. The familiar rhythms gave way to the old techniques learned when I first became a rogue. You had to calm your heart and your mind before slitting a man's throat; too much excitement always gave you away.

            A hand brushed over my shoulder. I flinched before I remembered it was Varric. I looked up at him, his hand hovering just over where he had brushed.

            “I’m sorry..” I mumbled and pulled my knees closer. “Just a stupid nightmare.” His hand closed the gap and squeezed my shoulder.

            “No need to be sorry, darling.” I rested my cheek against that warm hand. How is it even though I had been under blankets I was still so cold?

            The bed dipped and he was next to me, heat pouring off of him.

            “It’s hard to tell what’s real sometimes,” I whispered, staring into the fire, not watching to see that worried look I knew he had. “I keep wondering when I’ll wake up, back in the cabin or that white room and this has just been an illusion.”

            He moved his hand to stroke a thumb along my cheek.

            “You know you don’t have to do it,” he said softly. “You never have to go back there.”

            My head snapped up, neck aching from such a sharp movement. It was a wonder my head didn't start pounding.

            “If you think for one second that I will not be there beside you, raining down blood, then I _must_ be hallucinating. The Varric I know, that I met in Kirkwall, would _never_ suggest it after knowing what I went through at the hands of those twisted bastards.” The fire in me spread, vicious.

            Anger, an old friend and comforting lover, sparked and grew. I met those eyes, so similar to my own, finding an answering flame.

            “Now there’s the girl who sauntered into the Hanged Man after slaughtering a whole cell of slavers.” My lips pursed at his humor.

            “You nug-humping bastard!” I tried to say it with conviction and shoved him lightly. "I was ready to turn a blade on you!” I forced my legs to straighten.

            “You wouldn’t do that to Bianca.” His hand brushed my cheek again and I smiled.

            “Mmm… we’ll see.” I yawned, unable to stop myself.

            “You need to get some sleep, darling.” He stood up and smoothed out his hair. I swear it was always more impeccable than mine, and the thought made me chuckle.

            Sighing, I didn’t move towards the pillow pile. “I don’t know if I can.” The defeat was back in my voice, only a sliver, my knees beginning to creep up to my chest.

            “You will, you’re falling over already.”

            I _was_ listing to left a bit more than normal.

            “Maybe…” I replied, and looked away from him.

            There was a pause.

            “Varric…” I hesitated. “Never mind it was a stupid idea.” I really had some nug-brained thoughts sometimes.

            “What is it darling? Want old Varric to curl up with you and chase the monsters away?” It was light, playful, but the smile faltered when my sheepish smile tugged at my lips.

            “Oh…” He turned and I wanted to push my face in the pillows to suffocate myself. Since when was I some blushing Chantry maid? There were few things in Thedas that could warm my cheeks, so why was this so difficult?

            I settled for burying my face into my knees to hide my burning skin as I tried desperately to cool down. I would never hear the end of it! The fact that he was quiet was even worse.

            He was plotting, I just knew it.

            I jumped when the bed dipped again on the other side.

            I was certain I was hallucinating--or dead; couldn't discount that option just yet. I was betting on dead because my hallucinations sucked ogre balls for content. I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands hard enough to hurt, just to be sure.

            Yup, not dead or dying; but there was Varric...in the bed...shirtless. My cheeks flushed and I couldn’t help but gape.

            “What?” he asked, and smirked, “I can never sleep in a shirt.” He patted the bed next to him. “I promise I’ll be a perfect gentle-dwarf.”

            I chuckled; it brought back memories of when we had first met. I uncurled myself and slid over, and he leaned back against the headboard, propped up a bit. He held his arm out and I curled up against him.

            “Maker’s hairy ass,” he all but yelped, “how are you so cold!”

            I started to pull away and his arm came down and held me still, the other reaching to pull the blankets up.

            “Andraste’s crusted sores,” he muttered. I curled up against him more, resting my head on his chest, face tickled by that prized chest hair. “How is it you’re still freezing?” I chuckled against him, relaxing against that warmth.

            “You just haven’t found the right way to warm me up.” I splayed my hand on his chest and he jumped

            “You’re playing with fire, darling.”

            I sniggered, my fingers soaking up the heat greedily.

            “I can feel that.” I smiled and shifted just a little bit to be comfortable. His hand moved, stroking along my back in careful, slow sweeps. It was soothing but I knew sleep would be difficult. I let out a sigh and moved my head enough to look up at him better. He was staring out at the room, not seeing anything, but rather lost in his thoughts as I had been many times recently.

            “Varric?” My soft came out a soft murmur. He blinked and looked down.

            “Yes, sweetheart?” Sweetheart? He always called me darling. I frowned a little bit, wondering what was going on in his head.

            “Could you…” I sounded as a child with all the hesitating I was doing! “...Tell me one of your tales.”

            He laughed lowly, and it vibrated through me and made me smile.

            “Have I ever told you the tale of how Hawke defeated the Arishok?” I could hear a fond note in the question.

            “Sounds like a good one.” I closed my eyes, relaxing inch by painful inch into the furnace next to me.

            “Well, it all started because some rogue pirate decided to steal the Tome of Koslun,” he began, the rich timbre more soothing than the heat, though it was cutting it close with the small circles he was making along my back.

            I felt safe there, falling asleep to the rogue story teller elaborating on the finer points of trying to stab a bull of a Qunari with a dagger and the steady beat of his heart, and before I knew it, I fell asleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            Pulling up the hood, I sank into the darkness it provided, hiding my face as I entered The Hanged Man. I was in need of a good drink and a room that didn’t rock with the waves. It was nicer than some of the darkspawn crusted holes I had drunk in before, which was a pleasant surprise.  

            My entrance barely stirred a head. Paragons bless my tits, because I didn’t need any more attention. I wanted to retrieve my things, but the captain had locked the hold down tighter than a pious chantry maid’s thighs, with promises to open it in the morning.

            I was not in the best of moods.   I needed a bath, badly. But first: a drink.

I slunk my way to the bar and looked up, I could only just see over the wooden edge – damn dwarven shortness. The barkeep glanced my way.

            “A bottle of Tevinter Red if you’ve got it,” I said. “Otherwise the Orleasean Gold will do.” Not high end, but a bit more expensive than my usual. After the nug-piss swill I’d had in the last port I needed something good. Though I didn’t want to get too drunk my first night in unfamiliar territory. “Also would you happen to have any free rooms?” I added.

            “Kid, why don’t you just go home and save your money.” The man sounded tired, but my anger steamed. I threw back my hood and glared up at him.

            “Excuse me, who are you calling a child?” I crossed my arms, not needing any of bullshit after the day I’d had. The barkeep snapped up straight.

            “So sorry, Serrah. I’ll get that bottle right away!” He nearly spilled the brandy he was pouring. “And this is on the house.” He handed me the heavy glass tumbler. I knocked it back, It was Antivan Brandy—not the best, but still good. I set the glass down and enjoyed the burn settling in my stomach when the bartender came back.

            “I’m so sorry, Serrah, had I known…”

            I cut him off with my hand.

            “Do you have any rooms available?” I reached into my cloak to pull out some coins when a sound behind me had my hand ghosting my dagger instead.

            “Corff, buddy, I’ll take care of this lovely lady. Put it on my tab.” The voice was very nice, like honey that had been sitting in a dark corner for some time: sweet, thick and dark with little crystals to give it a rough edge.

            "Your waitresses are getting antsy over there waiting on orders,” the voice continued, “better go or I won’t be responsible for their revolt.”

            I turned, my eyes widening. I hadn’t expected a dwarf. He screamed rogue, especially with the crossbow strapped to his back.

            “And what makes you think I need taking care of?” Dealing with other dwarves was tricky depending on where they were born and how much stock they put in Orzammar. Many saw the brand on my face and treated me like garbage or as their personal property. I was caressing the hilt of my dagger, watching him, waiting for a fight.

            “Whoa there, darling.” From that response alone, he was definitely less traditional than most of my kind. “I’m just offering a place to relax unbothered.” I narrowed my eyes as he came closer. “You don’t want those unsavory fellows in the cornet sneaking up on you tonight, likely slavers from Tevinter. There’s been an influx of them lately.”

            I flicked my gaze to where he mentioned, and sure enough there was six of them, all eyeing me.

            “Where are my manners?” the dwarf asked. “Varric Tethras, at your service.” He tilted his head. “Now, if you’d like, we can stand and talk until you’ve relaxed away from that blade of yours, or we can sit and have a nice drink." I tried to keep the shock from my face. "You’ve got some unusual tastes; Tevinter Red is an odd choice for a dwarf.”

            “I’m not sure if I should stab you or shake your hand,” I said out loud, and he laughed.

            “Oh, darling, I’m just getting started.”

            I allowed myself to relax. Company would be nice. A bath and a bed afterwards would be even better. He led me to a table in the corner, allowing me to sit so I could see the entire room. A waitress dropped off some clean mugs and he poured expertly.

            “Now, I have to ask,” he said, leaning in with interest. “What’s a dwarf like you doing in Kirkwall? You can imagine we don’t get many to begin with, let alone of the female persuasion and in the middle of the night.”

            I was saved from answering when a man came running in, straight towards us. My hood came up, blades hidden beneath cloak. Better safe than sorry.

            “Varric! You won’t believe it!” the man panted out, gasping for breath.

            “Relax, Twitchy, what’s got you running all the way here from the Docks?” Varric’s voice stayed steady but there was a note of tension, a readiness, as if something had happened.

            “A demon!”

            That made Varric’s mask falter and I shifted. I hated dealing with demons.

            “Straight from the Fade, came down and slaughtered a whole mess of slavers, it was a massacre!”

            I refrained from laughing. The man was obviously frightened out of his wits, and to burst into chuckles then and there would’ve been rude of me. My shoulders eased, hands coming away from the steel.

            “I saw it!” Twitchy continued, distressed. “It couldn’t have been human!”

            “Now, Twitchy, you know if it’s a demon, Hawke will take care of it. I’ll get one of my contacts to take a look.” He was smooth, but the mention of demons had shaken him up.

            I waited until the man left before reaching over and taking a sip of the wine, letting the rich flavor seep in. Damn that stuff was good, even if it came from one of the most Maker’s forsaken places in Thedas. I shook my head, clearing it of unhappy memories as I took another mouthful and realized he had been watching me.

            “Not only do you have excellent tastes, but you’re also good with those blades,” Varric said, intelligent eyes settling on me again. “There’s a story here, darling, that I have to hear.”

            I chuckled.

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Nope, no one would have believed that.

            “You wound me, darling,” Varric said, sounding amused. “I’m an excellent listener.” He took a drink and looked at the cup before eyeing me. “If it weren’t for the blood spatter I might not have figured it out until tomorrow.”

            My eyebrows rose and my gaze drifted down. The cloak was black, lined in jet fur, but my leather armor was dun and sure enough flecks of blood were still visible. Faulty cleaning charm. I needed to find a good enchanter.

            I opened my mouth for a witty retort when the door flew open again and three individuals came running in. A warrior, her hair and eyes a startling crimson, with a tattoo artfully etched on her face around the eyes that made me think cat, lithe and strong, strode over. She was gorgeous.

            The next that caught my attention was an elf; tall for his kind, agile as all elves were, with a shock of white hair a shade I had only seen once or twice before. But it was the markings that startled me. I was a dwarf, so magic was something I was resistant to, but I could still _feel_ it, and those were lines of power infused with lyrium – he was a very powerful warrior with markings like that, indeed.

            Lastly there was a mage, kind of quiet, a look of perpetual concern in his eyes, and blond hair-- My thoughts halted there. I knew this man.

            “Hawke! What bring you into this fine establishment this evening, and with Broody and Blondie no less?”

            I slid deeper into the shadows. I didn’t seem to cause for worry; the group was focused entirely on Varric.

            “It seems the whole town is going mad about a demon at the docks,” Hawke all but purred. It seemed this Hawke had no fear of what lay within the Fade. “Strangely enough all the slaver cells are out for blood tonight. Care to join me?” Sass in that voice, very nice. A lot of dwarves wouldn’t touch humans, dwarven pride and all that, but I had no such qualms. I preferred the human or elven persuasion.

            “You know Bianca here can’t resist killing a few slavers,” Varric answered. I smirked; guess I had caused quite a fuss after all.

            “Good! Let’s go!” Hawke turned and began to walk towards the door. Varric spared a glance to me in the gloom and waited for them to be out of earshot.

            “I meant what I said, darling,” he said. “My room's open for you. I’d still like to hear that story of yours.”

            With that he was off.

            I could hear that unmistakable voice of the mage, “Are you alright, Varric? You look a little distracted tonight.”

            Andraste’s fire filled ass, I guess I wasn’t going to be able to catch my breath after all.

~*~*~

            Curiosity got the better of me and I stayed. One night would be fine. It couldn’t hurt to sleep in a real bed for one night, could it?

            I put my charms to the test and worked my way around the room, gleaning information from the wild tales being told by the patrons and getting a feel for the dwarf, pieced together by opinion and rumor and experiences. It was past mid of night when I finally grew weary. I went to Corff and asked if he would show me to Varric’s room. The man, still clearly embarrassed about earlier, took me himself and included a promise of some good (and fresh) food. My stomach growled at the prospect, I didn’t want to chance the “mystery stew” I had heard about.

            Varric’s suite was impressive. It appeared tidy, not the cluttered mess my imagination had constructed. It felt lived in – not some place to take others for some fun. This was a home.

            It was nearly an hour later when both food and Varric arrived. He looked exhausted, blood-spattered, but with a triumphant grin on his handsome face.

            He slid his crossbow off his shoulder with the care of someone handling a beloved heirloom. “You must be a sorceress in disguise!” he commented, a sparkle in his eye.

            I chuckled. He had quite the sense of humor.

            “I don’t know how you managed fresh food,” he continued. “Takes a miracle to weasel that out of the man.”

            I smirked and shrugged as I watched him from where I stood by the fire.

            “I can be charming when I want to be,” I said, and looked over the food. My stomach cramped with hunger. How long had it been since the last hot meal? Two… three weeks?

            “Of that I have no doubt.” He shrugged out of the duster slowly and I saw red. It was not the spatter from being too close to a shot, but the seep of a potentially too-deep wound.

            “Are you hurt?” I started towards him, instinct kicking in.

            “Ah…” He looked down at his arm, “Bastard caught me off guard.”

            “And you don’t have a healer at your beck and call?” I joked, pulling the sleeve of the tunic up.

            “Blondie was drained. Hawke managed to nearly gut herself while taking a blow meant for Broodie.” He winced when I probed at the edges; it was six inches long, but fairly clean – sharp blade, no poison.

            “Blondie? Broodie?” I asked, pulling out several vials from my pouch.

            “The mage and the warrior that barged in earlier, trailing behind Hawke.” He hissed as I poured out the syrupy liquid.

            “I do hope those are not actually their names,” I said with a chuckle, and found a length of clean bandage.

            “No, but it suits them much better…and speaking of names, I still haven’t heard yours.” He turned that honey gaze on me.

            I smirked; I might as well tell him something to sate the curiosity.

            “It’s Kali.” I secured the dressing and checked to make sure it wasn’t too tight.

            “Well, Kali; Bianca and I would just love to hear this tale of yours.” He guided me to sit down, making sure I had a plateful of food.

            “Bianca?” I questioned. A deflection, and a poor attempt at one at that.

            “My gorgeous crossbow; say hello Bianca.” He stroked a hand down her.

            “She is beautiful; you’ll have to tell me how you came to have her.” That didn’t work either.

            “That’s up to Bianca.” He chuckled and something clicked.

            “You know,” I said keenly, “I remember a story about a dwarf named Bianca.”

            He went stock still.

            “Noble caste. The only daughter of a proud family. Her beauty was Paragon worthy; she could have had any dwarf in Orzammar – even one of the Princes. Instead she fell for a surfacer, one who had come down on an expedition into the deep roads. Of course her father was outraged, forbade her to see him. She’d sneak out and when he finally left on the journey he did so with a promise to return and take her away. Her father had other plans, bargained for her to marry into another wealthy house, Harrowmont, if I’m not mistaken. She fled instead of enduring a loveless marriage, and she ran into the darkness in search of her beloved. When he returned and found out what she’d done, he spent weeks searching to no avail. He finally left and vowed to never set foot in that forsaken Thaig again.” It had been a lifetime ago that I had heard the whispers and dismissed them as some yarn, but to see Varric put off guard by it was unusual.

            “They certainly got the gist of it right, but some of the details are way off.” I was pretty sure I had heard wrong. There was no way… but stranger things had happened around me. I felt bad for bringing it up, so I did what I did best: I distracted.

            “Well, I can’t start my tale at the end…but the beginning might take too long.” I took a sip of wine and watched him put that carefully crafted mask back in place.

            “The short of it is I got out of there with a merchant and hired myself out as a mercenary,” I began. “With the Blight, there was no shortage of work for myself, so I traveled all over Ferelden, helping where I could. Met some interesting individuals, killed even more.” I laughed. I had bathed in more blood than I had ever thought possible.

            “That was, until the Archdemon was defeated. I decided to expand my horizons and leave Ferelden. I made my way through Orlais and Nevarra. I ended up in the Imperium. While on the road through a nasty set of woods I came upon something curious. A slain Fade Kat, I believe they’re called panthers here.” I took a bite of bread and sighed, it was really good. I was such a sucker for good bread. Varric had taken to cleaning Bianca while listening.

            “The animal had been skinned and left. A waste.” There was hatred that burned in my words. “I would have kept going if not for this little cry I heard. A tiny jet black kitten hidden in the bushes.” My expression softened. “I couldn’t leave her, so I brought her with me. We grew dependent on each other.” I smiled tenderly and Varric nearly choked on his drink.

            “Maker’s sagging tits! You’re a Ranger!”

            I nearly cracked the bottle as I poured myself some more wine. Me and my big mouth.

            “I picked up quite a lot in my travels,” I continued, “A ranger repaid me for saving him.” I pulled off my left bracer to show a set of old claw marks. “She was a piece of work, my Sasha, smarter than a Mabari and twice as cunning.” I smirked before draining my glass.

            “We had traveled through the Imperium for quite some time. We stuck to small towns, keeping to ourselves when we were ambushed. A magister had heard of Sasha.” I growled, “He took her from me, told me a dwarven whore didn’t need such a valuable piece of merchandise.” The anger came as it always did, saturated me in its soothing heat.

            “He didn’t have need of a useless dwarf, so he let his men have their fun and left.” I could still see that smug look on his face. “I killed them all and nearly died for my efforts. It was weeks before I could travel again, by then he was long gone.” I ripped into another piece of bread. “I’ve been tracking him ever since.”

            “You need to meet Broodie, you two would hit it off.” It was an odd tone, but I shrugged it off.

            “Why’s that?” I couldn’t forget that unique warrior, who could?

            “He’s an escaped Magisters slave.” Varric divulged. “The bastards been hunting him,” he added after a moment. “I think Danarius was his name.”

            I was up and in his face in a second, nose to nose as I watched his eyes.

            “Do not lie to me dwarf, was that the name or not?” I hadn’t realized I had his wrist gripped tight, preventing him from bringing Bianca into firing position.

            “Whoa there, darling,” Varric said, very deliberately, “that is his name. I take it you two have met?”

            I skulked away, unable to contain the violence in me.

            “That limp-dick, rat-faced, nug-fucking bastard is why I’m here,” I growled. “I heard rumors he was here on business.”

            I seriously needed to calm down or I was going to end up shedding blood.

            “He was here, darling, but left some time ago.”

            I let out a string of the nastiest curses I could think of.

            “Stay in Kirkwall,” he suggested. “Our ragtag bunch could use another member and I can keep my ear to the ground for you.” It was so strange, I realized, that he’d asked of me only a story and yet now he was willing to offer so much.

            “We will see,” I answered. “I was heading to Antiva before he changed my plans.” I stifled a yawn.

            “You need some sleep darling,” Varric remarked. Which suddenly brought to mind that there was only one bed.

            “Uh…” I said.

            He caught on quickly.

            “I’ll be a perfect gentledwarf if you want me to join you. If not I’ve got a cot stashed away.”

            I laughed. I would never admit it out loud, but I was starting to enjoy his company.

            That’s when the walls began to buckle. Right before my eyes the wood and stone wavered, melted, and twisted into something else. The bliss I had felt was wrenched away leaving only dread.

            I tried to grab Varric but even as I turned I knew. I felt that he was no longer there. It was dizzying, the swirl leaving my head aching, hurting as it had before.

            The stone and deeper, darker colors were sucked away, leaving a stark white I knew all too well.

            Maker’s violated ass. NO!

            I took a step and went crashing down, the trembling too much to handle.

            “Crying out for your lost dwarf? How pitiful.” Why did it always have to be her? Me? “I really turned into a simpering fool.”

            “Shut up! This isn’t real!” I screamed, pushing to my feet.

            “Oh, no. You’ve been lost in those precious fantasies for days…” She laughed. “Ever since we showed you that dwarf.” My heart faltered. “What was his name again?”

            “Varric…” I whispered, then spat,“No! He’s alive, he saved my ass, damnit!” I wouldn’t give in to the lies, wouldn’t believe them.

            ...if they were, in fact, lies--

            “Oh, you are so pathetic, you can’t even accept the truth.” The taunt was cruel, so cruel. “Shall I show it to you again? What the Templars did to him?”

            “This. Isn’t. Real,” I seethed through my teeth as the room dropped out from beneath me.

            “Just enjoy the ride…” The snark could have cut my aching flesh.

            I was suddenly being dragged. I could feel the pain so intense I didn’t want to lift my head, couldn’t even attempt to struggle. My shoulder burned steadily and I recognized the wound there, remembered the downward strike and my flesh parting for the crystal.

            What little hope I held onto slipped away. Bits and pieces began to come into view; grass, dirt, branches--we weren’t in the compound anymore. My heartbeat was agonizingly fast. I could not unsee what he had written for Varric.

            He couldn’t die – he was too good, bandits would never get the drop on him--

            A voice, one that froze me like ice, spoke.

            “See what your little stunt caused?” Ser Morgan stepped out of the shadows alongside me, gloating. “You didn’t listen. I warned you, dwarf--I am true to my word.”

            Someone wrapped my braid around their hand and wrenched my head back, forcing me to look at the alley. The pools of blood on the ground registered first, more than what one person could hold, but then again, there was more than one body. Bandits, dead bandits! He could have gotten away! A shred of hope blossomed as I searched face after face, determined even as my body wanted me to fail.

            But then... No, no, no, no, no. Not Varric, please don’t be Varric…

            The leather was all too familiar.

            “Let her go, let her see for herself,” Ser Morgan ordered coolly.

            The hands released me and I dropped. My limbs did not want to work, so I crawled forward like a wounded animal. Through mud, blood, and thicker things, I pushed myself to get to that duster. Numb fingers clenched on the thick hide and I pulled, but nothing happened, I was too weak. I was quaking and couldn’t stop it, didn’t know how to make my body do what needed to be done. I howled in grief when I managed to slide him over.

            There was no mistaking him now, even with his hair matted with muck and filth. An arrow stuck out his side, but it was his throat that I could not tear my eyes away from. The skin was parted, slashed by an expert hand. I pulled the body to me and screamed in wordless fury and anguish. He hadn’t deserved it, Varric – snarky, cunning, handsome Varric, quick with a story as well as bolt from Bianca. He couldn’t be. He couldn’t be dead.

            “This is your doing,” that wretched, terribly calm voice said, slicing through my lament. “If you hadn’t tried to get away he’d be on his way back right now.”

            I turned my aching head to see that vile excuse of a human standing there. Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of Bianca, scratched and bloodied but whole. I moved, fueled by vengeance. My fingers wrapped around wood, grabbed her to me. I raised her up, the bolt sliding in cleanly, and the world fractured around me and shattered.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 


	5. Blood and Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up NSFW!

            Pain shot through my temple as I landed in a heap on the floor.

            My mind fought against the memories. My arms and legs jerked clumsily, trying to untangle from the blankets, as if they were the remembrances that clung with deadly gossamer webs.

_No! He couldn’t be dead!_

            Wait.

            He wasn't. Was he?

            I wouldn't be responsible for the death of such a good friend. I’d seen far too many of my own fall, each a loss weighing like a stone upon me, each willing me to break. This one would be the one heavy enough to widen the cracks and shatter it all.

            “Darling?” The voice was sleep rough, deeper than usual.

            I froze, fighting the panic and batting away the urge to flee the _sicktwistedperverse_ hallucination determined to drive me into the arms of madness.

            “Sweetheart?” The voice was closer now.

            I curled up in a ball. I needed that haunting voice to go away. I wanted to mourn my friend in peace.

            My head spun. My throat hurt. At the edges of awareness, I knew I was hyperventilating.

            Strong arms lifted me up, crumbling the pitiful wall of lies my consciousness had constructed.

            I wanted to scream. Needed to rend flesh from bone and learn what was real. Why did my own mind have to be so cruel?

            I found myself cradled against a bare chest, a strong hand curled around my left thigh.

            I flinched as a fiery-warm hand slid up my back. Muscles jumped, trying to pull away from the false comfort.

            “Come on, sweetheart." His reassuring voice only pushed my panic higher. "You’re safe now, you’re not hallucinating."

            Breath ghosted my cheek.

            "I’ve got you.”

            He sounded so tangible.

            I couldn't do it. I couldn't block out the lie. How could something made up feel so real?

            “Varric?” My voice came out so very quiet.

            No response.

            "I’m sorry,” I whispered, repeating the words over and over again. I couldn’t remove the vision of his body in my arms. Images of cold skin and thickened blood filled my head.

            “What are you sorry for, sweetheart?" He spoke slow and soft. "You haven’t done anything wrong.” He kneaded down the back of my neck as I trembled, arms wrapping tighter around myself.

            “It’s my fault you’re dead.”

            Another ringing silence.

            I nearly lost it then, nearly started sobbing. Tears didn’t flow – couldn’t – I was far past the point of tears.

            “If I hadn’t run... hadn’t stood up to him…” I whispered, then stopped, took a deep breath, and forced out the horrible truth. “You wouldn’t have been killed on the road." A hysterical laugh slipped out as I said it out loud. "I tried to get the bastard.” I looked at my fists. I could still see the blood and mud coating my skin, could still feel the familiar weight of his crossbow, taken from his lifeless body. "I had Bianca in my hands and – and –”

            And—

            And I couldn’t remember past that moment. That was the clue, the small strand I needed to reach and cling to, the answer to which reality was actually true.

            I stopped what I was doing, fingers automatically going to the flesh on my arm to pinch. Pain would tell me what was real.

            A hand touched mine.

            “Don’t do that, sweetheart; it kills me every time.”

            I looked down. His hand lingered gently over the many marks I had self-inflicted.

            “I don’t know any other way…” I rasped. He knew what I meant, of course. Looking up at him, I saw the pain in those eyes. I loathed myself more fiercely in that moment, knowing that I had caused it.

            “We’ll find another way,” he answered softly, sliding his big, warm hand back to my thigh and pulling me more firmly against him. He wrapped his arms around me. I turned the best I could to relax into the hug, trying so hard to quiet my twinging muscles and my screaming mind. It was hard to calm the roar, to wipe away the images that felt so vivid, so real.

            As I got control of myself, he eased away, just a fraction, his hands drifting back to where they had been. I didn’t know what to say or do; I didn’t know how to test reality without pain. It always cut through the fog, that haze that ate away coherence. Part of me sniggered and reminded me if this was a hallucination would it be so bad if I never woke from it?

            I shoved that voice aside; it sounded too much like my cruel self.

            “You are the strongest woman I have ever known,” Varric said, voice low and warm, “and if anyone can find a better way and beat this, it’s you.”

            I flinched; this had to be the hallucination. From the way he used to talk about Hawke, so reverently, she had been the strongest one in his eyes.

            “Come on, sweetheart,” Varric said, coaxing, “you know what’s real--listen to your instincts.”  

            Blinking, I looked at him. We were almost nose-to-nose. I reached out and touched his cheek, felt the rough stubble beneath my fingertips. It was a tentative touch, uncertain, questing. I surprised myself when I boldly slid my fingers up and over and sank them into his hair, tugging the loose tie free. That copper streaked hair was thick, but soft and crimped where the band had been. A small smile ghosted my lips as I stroked; this was something I had undeniably wanted to do for a long time. There was something about stroking soft hair that calmed me – it was always such an intimate thing to do. I hated taking the liberty

       I _shouldn't_ be in his lap.

       I _couldn't_ be in his lap.

       I found myself half a room away as my lungs seized.

       Varric was there, pulling my fingers away. The skin along my throat burned in stripes.

       "Come on sweetheart, breathe." His voice grated.

       "Not real." Walls waivered and my anxiety spiked.

       "We went over this sweetheart, you know what's real." He moved fast, twisting me around. My arms were suddenly pulled tight in opposite directions as my back hit his front.

       "My Varric would have kept his distance." The words were my venom.

       "Always joking and helpful... but at arm’s length." It would have been cruel if he was real.

       "Now why would you say that?" I expected anger, not pain.

       "Oh you enjoy the innuendo, but never taking anyone up on it." I tried pulling my hands free once more. "Not even me."

       His grip slackened, just enough. I twisted free and turned on him.

       Emotions swirled in a maelstrom. The onslaught of _angerpainconfusionlust_ distorted everything.

       The dominant need won out.

       I grabbed him roughly, my face close enough to taste his exhale.

       I had a moment; an instant of struggle before my lips crushed to his.

       The moment was years overdue.

       From the time I had stepped into The Hanged Man I had pursued him. Each slippery movement and every excuse intrigued and inflamed me. There was always real heat behind the words, signs of tangible lust.

       His lips were still.

       The pent up frustration fizzled.

       The cold wash of reality settled in.

_He_ was real.

_This_ was real.

       I had fucked up.

       Tearing myself away I knew I needed to fix it. Words failed to form. Actions wouldn't be enough. What could I do?

       My mind screamed.

       I found myself up against the wall, wrists pinned.

       I opened my mouth to demand release when my mouth was assaulted. His kiss was not careful.

       Pain flared and stone laced copper hit my tongue.

       "I will show you what's real, sweetheart." He growled against my lips.

       His hand tightens against my wrists.

       This was not real. This was not Varric.

       "Do you know how hard it was to turn you down, again and again?" That storyteller voice was so rough. Almost as harsh as his free hand divesting us of clothing.

       "You got under my skin sweetheart." That honey sweetness dripped back in.

       "Even started writing a new serial with a particularly fiery dwarf." There was humor there.

       "Bullshit." I struggled and pushed. "He would never do that."

       His body became my shackles.

       Hot breath ghosted my neck.

       "She walked into the dingy house, a controlled storm of rage and vengeance. Nothing would stop her, not her companions nor her dashing lover." It did sound like something he'd write.

       "As if you couldn't come up with that right now." Why did I say you?

       This wasn't real. He wasn't real. Why had I said it?

       Confusion clouded every thought. Red claws raked my awareness. Muscles began to fight the cramps.

       Sharp sudden pain.

       Blissful clarity cut through the muddle.

       My heartbeat slowed. The demons screaming how this wasn't real evaporated.

       His teeth came away red. My neck throbbed.

_This_ was real.

       I didn't care.

       This was _real_.

       I licked the blood from his teeth.

       He kissed me.

       The restraint on my hands disappeared. I gripped his bare back. Muscles flexed and reminded me just how strong he really was.

       Cool air and heated skin raised gooseflesh. There was nothing preventing me from wrapping my legs around him and quenching the heat that had been simmering for so long.

       Nothing but that nagging doubt that I was trying to fool myself.

       I hesitated against those demanding lips. I let those poisonous thoughts seep back in.

       There was no escape.

       There was nothing to escape.

       This _wasn't_ real.

       The bite came to my chest. It was off center, just barely on the swell to the right.

       Crimson smeared across his chin. My tongue followed the trail.

       His fingers gripped my thighs and I could feel bruises forming.

       With his teeth set in my lip and back scraping against the rough wall he thrust. My cunt was wet, always soaking when near him, but it was a tight fit.

       I had wondered how our first fuck would go. Fantasized on dark nights how delicious his cock would feel.

       This was better.

       The pace was nothing short of glorious. Burning and hard he pistoned into me. My moans and the sharp slap of flesh echoed.

       His grasp on my flesh tightened in a wash of delicious pain.

       If only this was real.

       My head hit the wall in a powerful spasm that had nothing to do with ecstasy.

       Hot and thick. Something dripped down my fingers as Varric hissed into my parted lips.

       I could see the dark liquid, felt it smear as I touched his face. Scarlet finger prints marred his features.

       His thrusts never faltered. I could feel his cock twitch as I brought those sticky fingers to my lips.

       I tasted blood, _his_ blood, and something clicked.

       Hallucinations didn't bleed.

_This was real_.

       Varric was actually between my legs, fucking me raw against the wall

       I met his lips with tang of metal still on my tongue.

       My fingers slid into his hair, holding him where I wanted. He groaned as my fists tightened.

       "Varric..." I whispered.

       "You're real." That made him falter.

       His forehead pressed to mine as he moved my legs to his shoulders. I was folded in half, the angle sharper and more delicious.

       Blunt finger nails scratched down my exposed spine to my ass as the pace picked up.

       "Are you close sweetheart?" He sounded wrecked, barely holding onto control.

       I could only keen a response, my nerves a mess of pleasurable lightning. I wanted release, needed it more than air.

       A calloused finger slipped in with his cock and stroked my aching cunts walls.

       My breath caught as he searched and pressed, played and delved.

       His teeth sent me crashing over the edge.

       Varric latched onto the just starting to heal wound he had given. Skin gave way once more and I cried out.

       Scratching his back and chest wherever I could reach was not enough. Withing while trapped the clench and release around him kept going in waves.

       He shook and growled. One last thrust and he emptied inside me.

       Nothing wanted me to obey. Limbs refused to move. My voice was gone.

       “I’m pretty sure…” he whispered against my hair, “you may have killed me.” I chuckled.

       Between one long blink and another I found myself in bed, surrounded by his arms. I tried to speak once again but a yawn cut off any words that were forming.

       “Sleep, sweetheart, talk in the morning.” With that the dreamless dark took me.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to post. Caught a stomach bug on top of whatever else I had been fighting and was down for the count. Then I scrapped the original chapter and rewrote it!
> 
> Hopefully this made up for the wait.

**Author's Note:**

> The entire work is finished and after I finish editing each chapter I will be posting it! Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed.


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